Dear Average,

FOR MOST YOUTHS TODAY, WE HAVE BEEN BIRTHED INTO NUMEROUS CULTURES, SO YES, WE ARE NATIVES AND FOREIGN TO EVEN OURSELVES.

You sang songs in different languages,

songs with new words,

new words that might not have made much meaning to most but to those that had taught you these songs,

and you had done a great job.

You sang songs that filled the air with abundant tones.

You sang songs that rang in the nights.

You sang songs that rang in unison with the day time.

You sang songs in accordance with the different instruments.

You sang songs that meant the world to you, y

ou sang songs that merged universes.

You sang songs that made you universal.



You danced to different tunes.

You danced on your toes,

you let your waist sway,

you tapped your feet to minimal beats of the songs,

and your fingers snapped to the smooth tones,

your hands flung in the air,

your feet raised the dust.

You had various attires strapped on for various performances,

you let your back sink into it.

You let your heart learn these by heart.

Your mind and soul all into it.



You prayed to the gods or to the one important superior.

You prayed to a power in all the languages that you had mastered.

You prayed to the gods in various places,

you presented your wishes to the gods.

You prayed to them for forgiveness,

you prayed to the gods for rain whether they delivered or not,

you grew in faith and still prayed with a loving heart.

Some days, your faith slipped, some days the gods didn’t stare back!

Some days the gods did not send you messages either way,

you prayed for a voice. You prayed for them to come through for you.

You prayed in a synagogue, you prayed in a shrine.

You prayed in front of the priests those in fair purple scarlet robes with bronze highlights and to those with bark cloth.

You prayed, you obeyed, you cried, you stares back in the nights

and you with for the night’s winds to whisk you away.

Miracles are rare as it is if it were not for that, they wouldn’t be called miracles.

You prayed to symbols- one with a cross, others with horned cows.

You were tired of being the universal mule but you belonged to both cults.

You belonged to both religions but your faith was one.

You believed that the gods in some way were brothers, friends at most.

You believed that they saw your honesty and faith.

You believed that they wanted the best for you.

Despite of the ongoing numerous divisions and how you were told to stick with one faith.

And as you got wasted, you called onto the gods one more time.



You never learnt how to draw.

Not until later anyway.

You drew imaginary cars and the stick man back in your nursery school.

The years after that, you didn’t draw much, you were more amused by the inked pencils

and wanted to advance to the new classes.

And with time, your talent sunk to the ground for without your attention it could not breathe.

However, a compulsory art class tried to breathe life into what you could draw,

you tried to revive it.

You turned dusty white papers into beautiful backgrounds for your art pieces,

you blended colors- the green and red, the yellow and green!

The shapes you drew were much larger than those that you drew in nursery class.

Also, a compulsory literature class introduced you to a new art,

to new stories some boring some challenging.

Then you got to know about colonization,

not in depth but at least it was more open than your history notes.

So, yes, their writings showed you a little of a new world with much bigger consequences, mild theories, new characters, sex in raw bits.

So, you let your hands ramble, you volunteered to read in front of the class.

And the plays were more interesting.

But at the end it was all for the examination that’s why you crammed the tones, the themes, that weren’t even relevant then and now,

the breadth is far more than what most writers would go for or what they had experienced.

Your answers to life weren’t in the books and worst of all you weren’t allowed to write your own.

For people said literature doesn’t pay much and there is little or no space for a new artist!

So, let it all rest. The skies with numerous beauty and color were left behind.



So, yes, now you know what you know!

You can’t exactly say that you were foolish,

you don’t exactly regret it, you do not have a heavy heart, you have no pain to highlight,

you are not an in-depth thinker (or maybe a little).

You now take in things as they come.

You can’t go back to a culture that sold you to another with no thought. But you love both.

You are iron and marble. One with both cultures and yourself.

Still at conflict with where to lean to.

With a new perspective, thought and narrative.

The path that you walk on will never be yours. You’ve told your story,

it’s time to be away with the winds.

FERRISTER.M

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