Culture

Iba't Iba Ang Ating Nakasanayan (in Filipino/Tagalog language)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Iba't Iba Ang Ating Nakasanayan (in Filipino/Tagalog language)

 

Mahahalatang 

Magkakaiba tayo

Kung pagmamasdan!








Author's Notes/Comments: 

Reedited 11.07.2019 (for some punctuation error correction & a sentence construction error correction/emendation, too):  



It can be taken to mean as entailing the relationship that I have drawn between my own reflection about my informal studies of moral relativism (Moral Philosophy) & ethnomethodology (in Sociology, to be more specific); it was composed when I was delving deeply into the observation of how many cultures are there interacting with one another or with each other (in my own sphere); whereby it was considered how each of us have our own cultural backgrounds that impact almost anything (i.e., which could mainly mean an anthropological aspect of such a perspective).  While some are deemed not necessarily bad, those attributes might actually appear to be treated with repugnance (i.e. in another culture's point of view).  That is what I'm driving at or what the precise source of my conceptualization was (for this particular poem's inspiration).  It's the notion of the unintentionality of erring against each other whenever it had appeared in that approximated way (i.e. which, for me, may never be de-escalated or resolved without an effort in understanding it through self-reflection or self-directed learning).  It could encompass a variety of the cognate areas/fields of studies, suchlike: Political Science, Sociology/Psychology, Anthropology, et al.

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SWaG & THe TRiP DoWN THe RaBBiT'S SHiTHoLe

 Lyrics: 


"he's such an uppity motherfucker

dripping with douchebaggery

but he's got swag..."

 

*   *   * 

 

a collective of offended morons

who share a narrow world view

with every keystroke 


prancing along with blinders

to pervert what they see as truth

internet superheroes


 hive minded individuals

who see insufferable injustice

in every word uttered


a culture of victimhood found

in every innocuous glance their way


the first world problems of today

magnified by fanatics and sheer idiocy


social justice warriors on their high horse riding on

one way trip down the rabbit's shithole

 

"it's ok,  it's all a fucking safe place"

"the world as it really is and always will be can't hurt your delicate sensabilities here"

"just cover your ears and close your eyes"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"


la la la

la-tee-da

la la la

la-tee-do

la la la

this has nothing to do with you

la la la

la-tee-da

la la la 

la-tee-do

la la la

but maybe someday you'll piece together the fucking clues


we're the disease

and there can be no justice

as long as our race breathes

we'll always hate

we'll always kill

we'll always subjugate

we always have and always will


 




 




 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Marque Dos

I heard a word

on TV:

one Latina called another a coconut,

un coco,

because she couldn't speak Spanish:

"brown on the outside,

white on the inside."

 

I couldn't help but laugh

at the imagery.

It made me realize

that I must be a marshmallow,

un malvavisco:

white all around,

but hoping to walk through the fire of language

just long enough to brown around the edges,

a tostarme un poco,

to distance myself from the hegemony, and

excuse myself from the party

that's headed for the same token American bar

as last week.

 

Snow White, naïve Blancanieve

 

Looking to blend in more than to stand out.

To disappear, a desaparecerme, somewhere.

 

In Lisbon someone asked if I was Spanish.

In Madrid, Portuguese.

Both times I said no, but thank you so much.

 

Still forgetting words left and right,

asking to repeat.

Years later I'm out of practice.

Always minding the difference between

mente & menta

entre menta y mente

una mente de menta mentirosa y sabrosa...

 

The masochistic pursuit of

sideways elevator glances,

supermarket suspicion,

and accusations of having a fondness for underdogs.

 

America says, “Speak English!”

Everyone else says, “America, try speaking anything but.”

 

We've got the net

so we can connect:

fiber optic

cables intersect.

Fast cars and highways,

we've got flash mobs and

we've got the bomb.

 

We view immigrants

---the newer ones, not us---

as software that's outdated

and needs to be upgraded.

 

This is not my land and this is not your land.

Imaginary lines tend to cost a lot of lives.

 

Keeping up appearances:

take French in high school.

The state says you should;

it makes your transcript look good...

nothing to do with any actual aspirations of

global citizenship.

 

Everyone's all up in arms over

Por favor, marque dos para español.

Don't like it? Then don't marque dos, asshole.

 

Meanwhile, we sell steaks and beer using Australians,

perfume and bras with Italians,

and your GPS comes out of the box speaking British English so you're more likely to trust it.

 

But anything we don't understand at home

is perceived as a threat:

una amenaza.

I had to look that word up,

cuz it's one I forget.

 

Much of what we call inclusion

is an illusion:

do we really want to reach out,

or continue in seclusion

con esta confusion que nos separa?

con esta realidad que nunca para?

 

I heard a word

on TV,

because that's where we hear things.

 

 

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popular opinion

Naive am I, to realize this cultural lie and continue to live in it

Shameful am I, to see His hand held out to me and only grab His pinky

Loved am I, to feel His presence and witness His fatal actions to prove us worthy

Blessed am I, to be allowed salvation and forgiveness of sin

Coward am I, to know truth and refrain from preaching it

Phony am I, to wish to be loved in His heart and then break it

Strong am I, to admit weakness and see light in darkness

Faithful am I, to believe all is well and strive for His acceptance

Invented am I, to be taught wrongful rights and follow fragulant foot steps

Confused am I, to be only human and pray to be righteous

Two sided am I, to fight for rights and pray for love and peace

Lost in a culture of lies

Stuck with wicked habbits

REPLACING THE ABSOLUTE WITH POPULAR OPINION

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RACE

races, language, culture

 many more, enough to show

 enough way to define colonies

 thicker the building, more the safety

 a small pore, can blow the hope

 can be rectify with stuffs and many more

 

race between the different society

 specify from tradition

 culture discrete this diffusion 

 religion is in every wall 

 not against at all 

 but standard do exist 

 who above , who low 

 and some not even count any more 

 

occasion, which no word can define 

celebrate with potential ,

still have a distance from someone on the line 

as in marriage, some do

first see category then explain naturally 

 

a child never see 

 give a smile, make a balance 

like Earth, keep on try 

somewhere it still exist 

not against, also not follow 

only categories are  human , human being

as we are human being fellow .... 

 

 

 

 

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<<<<.>>>>Soaring Eagle<<<<.>>>>

I soar so high, a screeching echos
my high pitched call cuts through the clouds
my eyes pierce the horizons
I listen for your reply
I watch for your approach....

 

I see you in the distance
WE begin the flying ritual
The Dance of Sky, Air and Sun
WE pierce the Heavens
with skilled wings and fierce talons....

 

I wait and watch uncertain
will you pass the test
can you endure the trials of the Sky
thus far you are stead fast
will you continue to follow my lead....

 

Or like many before you
will you drift away unsure
will you fail to remain stead fast
I wait, watch and listen
a weathered warrior of the Sky....

 

I await your every move
as the Dawn awaits the Sun
as Night awaits the Moon
as the Earth Mother awaits
Her blanket of Stars....

 

This Lone Eagle soars the Heavens
Waiting for the ONE to be
my HeART beat
my Breath
my Life....

 

Chicahuac Necahuatl
1:31 PM 6/30/2013

 

Copyrights © 2013-2015 Chicahuac Necahuatl

Author's Notes/Comments: 

And the Dance Continues, I await the final outcome....I continue to Soar....

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anger

i feel the weight of the realness of this world crush me as Atlas with its futility..

each day i walk this place looking through eyes looking.. searching..
seeking my lover who even now is imprisoned by the weakness of the souls
of this world..

i feel the pain of her longing across a thousand years doubled even
more because to he ears these words might only be art.. but my pain is
real..

i feel the soft caress of her soul urging me onwards.. begging me to
find her and rip apart the walls of her jail cell.. would that i could
feel the flesh of my fingers fall off as i thrust my hands deep into the
hard concret of the walls the world has built around her..

i walk the streets of your cities surrounded by a million sleepers.. those who pace inside their dank jailcells and call it life..

i have strained every vessel til it burst.. exploding into the
totality of myself in an attempt to master the strengths and hungers
required to find you.. to free ur shackled form.. to restore ur divinity
with the purity of my embrace..

each day that passes i am puzzled more.. wondering if these words
reach you directly or from the mouths of others who repeat them..

each day as my eyes adjust to the reality of this world.. the air
grows thick with harpies that laugh at my efforts.. claws scratching me
with my own guilt..

i am lost.. i begin to question this quest i chose so long ago.. but i
am denied even the soft caresses of doubt.. even this anger melts
away.. for i know that even now somewhere in this world your heart yearns
to feel my heat.. your form yearns to feel my touch..

this love i have forged with countless hours in the forge of
passion.. burning away m,y doubts and fears and any traces of their
stained world is not mine to doubt or tarnish… it is

i feel the weight of the realness of this world crush me as Atlas with its futility..

each day i walk this place looking through eyes looking.. searching..
seeking my lover who even now is imprisoned by the weakness of the souls
of this world..

i feel the pain of her longing across a thousand years doubled even
more because to he ears these words might only be art.. but my pain is
real..

i feel the soft caress of her soul urging me onwards.. begging me to
find her and rip apart the walls of her jail cell.. would that i could
feel the flesh of my fingers fall off as i thrust my hands deep into the
hard concrete of the walls the world has built around her..

i walk the streets of your cities surrounded by a million sleepers.. those who pace inside their dank jailcells and call it life..

i have strained every vessel til it burst.. exploding into the
totality of myself in an attempt to master the strengths and hungers
required to find you.. to free your shackled form.. to restore your divinity
with the purity of my embrace..

each day that passes i am puzzled more.. wondering if these words
reach you directly or from the mouths of others who repeat them..

each day as my eyes adjust to the reality of this world.. the air
grows thick with harpies that laugh at my efforts.. claws scratching me
with my own guilt..

i am lost.. i begin to question this quest i chose so long ago.. but i
am denied even the soft caresses of doubt.. even this anger melts
away.. for i know that even now somewhere in this world ur heart yearns
to feel my heat.. ur form yearns to feel my touch..

this love i have forged with countless hours in the forge of
passion.. burning away m,y doubts and fears and any traces of their
stained world isnot mine to doubt or tarnish… it is yours.. and i raise it
high again into the air.. it burns my fingers as it bursts across the
dark skies for you to see..

i yell in pain and anger as it burns brighter stil.. i look to the
shadows of the sleepers as they scatter from its light.. seeking you
hidden among them..

my words fail me now.. they hold no beauty or truth only the echoes
of myu steps as i stumble blind thru a forest of sleeping trees..
planted firmly in the soil of humanities dreams.. yelling and calling
out to u.. sword in hand.. waiting to plunge it deep into those who
would keep us apart..

i am the firce dragon come to save u from the dashing prince.. the
warrior who has returned home from blood from battle for his own soul
only to find his home ransacked.. his lover gone.. i have tread the
years and lifetimes between searching for you.. i feel i am close.. this
moment in time that i step through holds within it the key to our freedom
to be apart no longer.. dream made real and real redefined..

my anger subsides.. if i have waited this long to feel ur tender
flesh underneath hungry teeth.. warm passion flowing thru clasping
hands.. then i can wait even longer..

but each day i look out at the sleepers world and curse it for
seperating us.. for twisting the very paths of the four winds so that you
do not recognise my voice..

call out to my flesh and blood.. my words do live but they are not
me.. i have walked through the millenia to reach this wall between us..
this seperator of faith and dream.. reach through to me..

yours.. and i raise it
high again into the air.. it burns my fingers as it bursts across the
dark skies for you to see..

i yell in pain and anger as it burns brighter stil.. i look to the
shadows of the sleepers as they scatter from its light.. seeking you
hidden among them..

my words fail me now.. they hold no beauty or truth only the echoes
of my steps as i stumble blind through a forest of sleeping trees..
planted firmly in the soil of humanities dreams.. yelling and calling
out to you.. sword in hand.. waiting to plunge it deep into those who
would keep us apart..

i am the fierce dragon come to save you from the dashing prince.. the
warrior who has returned home from blood from battle for his own soul
only to find his home ransacked.. his lover gone.. i have tread the
years and lifetimes between searching for you.. i feel i am close.. this
moment in time that i step through holds within it the key to our freedom
to be apart no longer.. dream made real and real redefined..

my anger subsides.. if i have waited this long to feel your tender
flesh underneath hungry teeth.. warm passion flowing thru clasping
hands.. then i can wait even longer..

but each day i look out at the sleepers world and curse it for
seperating us.. for twisting the very paths of the four winds so that you
do not recognise my voice..

call out to my flesh and blood.. my words do live but they are not
me.. i have walked through the millenia to reach this wall between us..
this seperator of faith and dream.. reach through to me..

Author's Notes/Comments: 

walk through light

tread upon the tightrope between two clouds
as two dreams floating high above the sleepers..
connect as two halves of a rainbow pot of gold
well counted by fairy tale fingers

American Me

My blood line is from the South
You say my name in plain English
I have a pronunciation in Spanish
My blood line is Inca and Spanish
Nicaragua is the name
Karen, is my name
So, Americanize me!

Today, I saw your sun
Today, I have an accent
What are you waiting for?
Civilize me!

My eyes are brown
I have two legs, two arms
Brown hair
Deep creamy white skin
Now, do I have to wear short clothing?
So, you can accept me?
My skin is white
What are you waiting for, American me?
My mouth is shut silent
What are you waiting for?
I, too, have a tea set and; drink from a tea cup
What are you waiting for?
Lynch me

I look at your moon
Mine, is in the third world
What did I do to you?
I have distorted your world.
What are you waiting for?
Kill me.
Work me to death, educate me,
American me
I, too, know, I can walk alone.
This is your sun
Mine, is in the third world
Americanize me.

- Karen Oviedo

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The Other Side

The Other Side

Years ago, after the freedom,
On a map laid on the table,
Some colonial masters,
With forks of perfidy,
Put us apart on the
Other side of Zakiganj.

Kushiara swells abound,
In my veins, but my
Heart aches in pain,
To toil the land in vain,
Still my roots remains on the
Other side of the stream.

Years later like a nomad,
I don’t find my roots,
Can’t hold anymore,
The strains of existence,
With so many identities,
Here on this side of Zakiganj.

On this side of the land,
I don’t find my roots,
My language, my songs, and
My tongue annoys,
So many who hates,
To see me survive,
And live after so many days.

On this side of the land,
The soil is only for her sons,
I find not a voice to listen,
I can’t call a place my own,
I hide even my whispers,
To earn respect, and
Lest they call me an alien,
I just sing their song.

……….
Baharul Islam | Guwahati | 20 July 2011

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The poem depicts the ‘rootless’ feelings of people of a small part of Syllhet district (Bangladesh) who were divided at the time of India’s independence and now live on the other side river Kushiara that falls in India. The voice here laments the division and feels like an alien. Zakiganj is a town on the side of Bangladesh, Karimganj is the town falling on this side of India in the state of Assam.

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