And killed 6 million of them straight out
In 5 years.
And the Jews have held that grudge;
Fought the world, for every inch, of recompense.
For 400 years, they have killed my family
Bound us in inferiority’s shackles
Bled out good nature from us
But we took the tears of our pains
The black congealed sorrow in our hearts
Mixed them together with the garish red of spilt blood
And made it into a feverishly living color – squirming, challenging!
We turned our suffering into an art form
My family is art.
Before our trip, Dad and I had a dialogue
He told me to compose a travelogue
Something to stop us being vague
When we would later recall the trip
I wrote it up in the slang in vogue
Amongst young teens like me
Made up stuff about us being in another league
When all we travelled in was worn clothes
And a claptrap vehicle souped up to endure the Sahara
The Kalahari or some other dead place like so.
And we glossed our desperate misery as adventure
Named it a travelling show.
My family is art.
If you have read those novels
Of strong families broken up by one mistake
Or bent out of shape till shattering
By a bruising tradition – like faith or love
And have looked at your own family with a wary eye
Searching for the young, lively ingénue
Thwarted by her beauty and her beloveds,
And the electric twist and turn of fate
Look no further, your family is right
You are the darkness. The dark counterpoint of the color curves
Black Swan.
My family is art.
My wife has the sensibility of a geiger counter
She picks up on stuff – like our slippery memory
So she took down the artsy paintings
Of incomprehensible color-flourishes
And fuzzy etches. Horizon-dipped landscapes
Means Nothing To Me! She said –
She put in their place, us.
The shot of our son’s first awkward ball strike,
Our sweaty leers of delight at the wedding
Us at the school recital of our daughter, holding her up
And her prize;
The naughty snap of me guzzling a bowl of funkied cereal,
She, stepping out of the bath,
While clutching a clothe around her naked, lithe body,
An embarrassed smile, dancing on her lips;
That playful lunge at the beach,
The kids thrust high in the air-
She blew it all up,
Into gigantic frames
And wall-papered the house with it:
Made it as if we lived in our moments
Why?
My family is art.
I love this catharsis
turning your suffering into a craft
that matures into genuine artistry
is something sublime that will transcend time………..
@innoalifa, you sir, got the gist of the poem: Carthasis. Turning the grief of our history, the misery of our present travails, the daunting prospect of our most beloved memories fading, into Art. And the risk of looking for problems when none exists -which can destroy us if we do, turn us into the darkness we are trying to prevent.
Cartharsis – no grudges, no regrets, no loss. We decide to live beautifully and make our lives Art-sy.
You did get my gist. Quick intellect you got sir, seeing behind my smokescreen. Lol
@Omoniyi-Adeshola so true, we decie to live beautifully and make our lives Art-sy lolzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!1
nice one!
@olushademi, yes. Nice comment too. Thank you for reading, liking and taking the time to comment.
My family is art as well, though our walls patched as well, our humorous moments hung on as well. Beautiful lines with vivid imagery.
@uzywhyte,I thank you. And yes, your family is fantastic Art, they gifted the world you. They, with the good Lord’s help, painted you, from scratch, as a Masterpiece…better than Da Vinci or Raphael or Michelangelo’s best. Every brush is better than Picasso’s…because the greatest creator made you and your family -through joys and pains- he built you guys wonderfully, hence, you are impeccable Art.
Thank you for reading and commenting.
Oh my! I think we’ve got another innoalifa
@uzywhyte, @innoalifa is peerless, unrivalled- he is in a class of his own. I can’t even come close to him. But I appreciate the sentiments; gracias milady.