We Share Our Grandfathers! !
The land of mine, where my greatest of all grandfathers had matured,
There he played with my equally old grandmother, he clamored,
We all prayed to the same Gods who have been kept,
In the palatial temples, built with the salt of their sweat,
A capped man arrived six hundred years ago,
With the notion of spreading his belief on our soil,
Earlier a confused Hindu Prince, who was a coward,
Afraid of sickness and old age, suddenly enlightened,
Under the tree of pothy and talked about our doctrines,
With out mentioning the names of his Gods and attested,
As a God himself and safely sitting in hearts of many,
We should agree that we have flaws but our religion is good,
We should agree that our elders tortured the people,
In the name of caste and other customs and rituals,
Then came many sectors of Hinduism, a few of our grandfathers,
Who were so poor, believed in everything that was mystic,
And thought conversion could bring them wealth,
They have started to practice the home grown religions at first,
The dynasty, was so cruel and killed our grandfathers in mass,
Destroyed our beautiful temples to the ground,
We had to hide our Gods under the ground,
Still our priests have done the prayers silently,
Without ringing the bells and our women,
Started to cover the head as our converted grandmothers did,
For more than two centuries the men with the cap and crown,
Had messed up our land and married our grandmothers,
Who were Hindu Princes and beautiful innocent ladies,
Then a company came, pretending to do the business,
Cultivated opium and marketed in China,
The drugged Chinese became helpless and gave up,
Hong Kong for ninety nine years for the drug debt,
Along this company came the missionaries,
Not from Middle East, but from Europe and Vatican,
To display what they had and they had a mother and a child,
Our grandparents were excited with the new photos,
That attached with a few kilograms of wheat and milk,
The company's intelligence spread the thorny plants,
Across our region to buy the land at cheaper cents,
Where our young girls had cut off their hair,
And become nuns to spread the teaching of love,
We have the houses of worship everywhere,
Where we pray to our Gods of many faces,
When we look at our brothers and sisters,
Who are holding the books and rosaries,
Still we think of our grandfathers,
What ever our brothers and sister believe,
We treat them as one of us,
They are one of us now and always.
They could have forgotten their roots,
We still remember the days that our grandfathers,
Grouped together to build those temples,
That still stands as majestic as the Sun,
At one place, the planets go around it,
Let them be anything. They are our still brothers,
and sisters and we share the same grandfathers.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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An Old Man With His Hat
There Little Robbie found him in an old yellow album
A blurred picture of a half old man with his hat
Standing in front of the coffin
He smiles shy but wide with his teeth gone making a hole like Little Robbie when he lose his baby teeth
Little Robbie doesn’t recognize him and he wonder where he is now
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his big sister
But his sister doesn’t recognize him and she wonder who he is
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his mother
But his mother doesn’t recognize him and she wonder how he was there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his father
But his father doesn’t recognize him and he wonder what he did there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his uncle
But his uncle doesn’t recognize him and he wonder when the picture taken
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks hopelessly to his grandfather
His grandfather takes a deep look to that picture and wonders why Little Robbie asks
Little Robbie says, “I want to meet him! I want to know about him! I want to play with him! ”
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
But his grandfather shakes his head, “No, he is not.”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
“He accompanied your great grandfather when he sick until his death. This picture is taken in a burial of your great grandfather.”
His grandfather stares at little Robbie
“Now, are you disappointed? ”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
Little Robbie shakes his head, “No, I am not.”
Though he is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
Though he is just an old man with his hat
“But I still want to meet him, I want to know about him, and I want to play with him! ”
And then he could be one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The British descended
The British descended
on the Transvaal and Orange Free State
from their island
on the other side of the sea
and in thousands
they came to ruin the land.
The British descended
on the Transvaal and Orange Free State
and from the sea they came
and an entire empire
send its soldiers to destroy,
to pillage and scorch the earth,
to rape, and imprison
the women and children
of the Afrikaner nation.
My great grandfathers rode on horseback to war,
with Christiaan De Wet, Cronje
and De La Rey
and they fought hard pressed,
to drive the British
and soldiers from all her colonies away.
My great grandfathers rode on horseback to war
and landed in prisoner of war camps in St. Helena
and although the second Anglo-Boer war was lost
and the Afrikaner nation paid the highest cost
in the destruction of the land,
the death of men
and the murder of innocent women and children,
a time came
that once more we were free.
My great grandfathers rode on horseback to war,
but one was from and with the enemy
and a highlander was he
and a more decent man
is still hard to find
and one that hated the English
for the dreadfull things that they did,
at times I see the restored Martini Henri rifles
taken from the British
during that bitter war
and the legacy and great spirit,
of my great grandfathers
still stays with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There are now grandmothers and grandfathers coming to see us because they are of that age, they grew up in the '50s and '60s and they bring their sons and their daughters to hear the songs they heard when they were young.
quote by George Thorogood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chosen People
Glory is on our way[? ]
Worship the sun, great spirit.
Born of the mother earth,
Seek for the true white brother.
We are the chosen people, give back our sacred land.
We are the four grandfathers, a destiny for man.
It is written in our prophecy,
[it is written in our prophecy]
That we shall find the true white brother,
[we shall find the true white brother]
Who will help us, joined together, to build humanity.
There is a place for everyone.
We are the chosen people, give back our holy land.
We are the ever forest, we are great spirits hand.
She will call us soon,
She will shake her body,
Bringing your land to ruin.
Why will the world not hear us?
We are most ancient teachers, we know great spirits plan.
We learned by natures secrets, the inner side of man.
We are the chosen people, give back our sacred land.
We are the four grandfathers, a destiny for man.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Came From...
i came from moonlight,
my grandfathers were great trees.
my grandmothers sudden gusts of wind,
that came from nowhere and returned.
my mother was a wolf,
my father the hard trodden path.
my sisters brought the rain,
my brothers the bow and the arrow.
my lovers made of shadows,
my enemies demons that haunt.
i am the fire tended
by hands unseen,
the saw and the axe.
i will return on a coming night,
the pine needles will hear my feet.
for i am the sound within thunder,
and the hand that catches lightning!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ancestry
ONCE I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Ay, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
“Will he prevail?”
“Surely,” replied this other;
“His grandfathers beat them many times.”
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers,—
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Let us thank our Gods..
Buddha was a human and a Hindu,
And he worshiped the Hindu Gods,
Instead of worshiping Hindu Gods,
Why do people worship Buddha?
Jesus was a human and a Jew,
And he worshiped the Father,
Instead of following his religion,
Why do people worship Jesus?
These are the questions of logic,
We may provide the answers of magic,
If Religions were gate way to heaven,
Where our ancestors went in BCs?
I like the teaching of Jesus,
Who asks us to love our foes.
I like the teachings of Mohammad,
as he eliminated injustices.
We, the human, elevated ourselves,
From the hardship that Gods have created.
From naked human to today's technocrats,
We have evolved from ignorance.
Let us take the religion for guidance,
not to inflict hatred on another human.
Let us take the doctrines for consolations,
not to hurt another human with weapons.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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We are the Hindus...
Few thousand year old scripture says,
that the Lord Brahma is the creator,
The Lord Vishnu is the protector and
The Lord Siva is the destroyer.
The destroyer of our pride,
selfish nature and evil attitude.
He has three eyes and
Hindus worship these three Gods.
The doctrines and principles.
weave around our life,
we have ceremonies for entire life,
Naming ceremony, ear piercing ceremony,
attainment of puberty and wedding ceremony,
ceremony for the first pregnancy,
and numerous other ceremonies,
apart from the death ceremony.
We have duties for everyone,
parents, grand parents,
uncles, aunties and children,
and we have to fulfill our duties,
other wise we will become outcast.
We are peace loving people,
who believe in Karma, our deeds,
as we do not have anyone,
to wash away our bad karma,
and Our Gods practice,
the check and balance,
and the division of labor.
Though our brothers and sisters,
call themselves in other names,
we treat them all as one of us,
as we believe the children of
Hindu ancestors are always the Hindus.
We treat them with respect and
we request them to treat us,
with due respect and not to convert,
our poor brothers and sisters,
for a bag of rice and a promise of heaven.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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My, My, My Crazy Family
My mom and dad, russ, and chris.
My step mom and dads, eidy, richard, marty.
My brothers, micheal, bear and joe.
My sisters, big tiff, little tiff, black head lory, red head lory, kim, betty.
My by marriage brothers, duck, and rick.
My by marriage sisters, amanda, stacey, and tammy.
My gram mothers, mama, and nana,
My grandfathers, Pap(Had 4 brothers all 5 of them fought in world war2) , Papa(also fought in world war2) .
My uncles and aunts, uncle david, aunt cathy, aunt carol, aunt edna, ect.
My family is just so huge I can't list them all
Imagine the dating situation.
The pickings get pretty slim.
Especially when my blood line goes to place I don't even know.
But eh I guess that how every family goes.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Graveyard In The Sky
Dad's, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, brother, sisters, aunt, and Uncles died at their home here on earth some time ago
And then they were all buried in the graveyard in the sky
But their in the sky nobody steals the grave in the graveyard
Also there are trees in the graveyard in the sky and flowers inthe garden
But the road that takes to the graveyard in the sky is paved
And sometimes you will see the memonights in their horse carriages Passing by
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Graveyard In The Sky Ii
Dad's, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, brother, sisters, aunt, and Uncles died at their home here on earth some time ago
And then they were all buried in the graveyard in the sky
But there in the sky nobody steals the grave in the graveyard
Also there are trees in the graveyard in the sky and flowers inthe garden
But the road that takes to the graveyard in the sky is paved
And sometimes you will see the memonights in their horse carriages Passing by
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Hinduism
What is Hinduism?
A cluster of tribal customs and of gods,
As practised and worshiped by tribes
Together with the vedic worship.
It is an adulterated Vedic doctrine.
Tribal gods included,
Dravidian gods included,
Ram and Krishna included,
The Hinduism has no universal god.
Vedic influence is not in dominance.
Yet Vedic Brahmins have supremacy.
Lord Buddha, a vedic Kshatric, revolted
Against Vedic worship and was shadowed,
With no regret then and now.
Temples of Buddha were replaced
By the temples of Ram and Krishna.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Once I saw mountains angry
Once I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
"Will he prevail?"
"Surely," replied this other;
"His grandfathers beat them many times."
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers --
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Sugar Trade
Now back when this earth was a silver blue jewel
And back when your grandfathers father was young
Men of these shores made and gave up their lives
Pulling up fish from the sea
While down in the african slavery trade
Stealing young men to cut sugar cane
Rum to new bedford and codfish from maine
They were building a wall that will always remain
Oh, the crown and the cross the musket and chain
The white mans religion, the family name
Two hundred years later and who is to blame?
The captain or the cargo or the juice of the sugar cane
The doryman he knows when the riptides will run
He sets out his nets and he sits in the sun
He thinks of his family and drinks of his rum
And he waits for the codfish to come
Its the same god-damned ocean that keeps them alive
It will swallow you up, it will let you survive
It will heal you and steal you and take you away
Like a note in a bottle with nothing to say
Now back when this earth was a silver blue jewel
And back when your grandfathers father was young
Men of these shores made and gave up their lives
Pulling up fish from the sea
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why We Tell Stories
For Linda Foster
I
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground
and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers
and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened
and learned to speak
2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us
and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees
3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life
Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently
and none of us tells it
the same way twice
Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them
and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and
poem by Lisel Mueller
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Wooden Indian
This song was first released on the poems, prayers and promises album. it is the only album it has been released on.
I, I was a red man
I was proud, I was strong
You were the white man
And you stole away my home
Now I am a wooden indian
Painted dreams inside my head
Times a where you bring me down
And make you wish I was dead
Na na na
I, I was a red man
In my passing made no sound
You were the white man
And you drove me in the ground
Now I am a wooden indian
Standing silent in the rain
Swear with my grandfathers father
Were going to rise again
Na na na
I, I was a red man
I was proud, I was strong
You were the white man
And you stole away my home
Now I am a wooden indian
Standing silent in the rain
Swear with my grandfathers father
Were going to rise again
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A long time ago, when all the grandfathers and grandmothers of today were little boys and little girls or very small babies, or perhaps not even born, Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura and Baby Carrie left their little house in the Big Woods of Wisconsin.
quote by Laura Ingalls Wilder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maybe I Know My History A Little Bit Better Than You Do (In Answer To Sipho Sepamla)
Maybe I know my history
a little bit better than you do.
My friend, you are talking
about stories being heard
around coal-stoves
concerning animals
and no real facts
are expressed in your poem.
I know when my ancestor Joost Strijdom
arrived in the Cape of Good Hope in May 1678,
that I descend from the lovely brave Maryna Ras,
when your ancestors
were migrating from a place called eMbo
at the big African lakes under
leadership of chief Dlamini
and later under chief Nguni.
I know how my ancestors battled
against wild beasts, fought the zulu-impi
at Blood River
and overcame by the help of
the almighty God
and that I would not have existed
if they died at the hands of the Zulus.
I know how my ancestors build
farms, churches and houses
while yours were living
in thatched grass huts.
I know how my great grandfathers
and one of my grandfathers
was enveloped in a war against the British,
how they survived
and how my great grandmother
died in a British concentration camp.
I have even faced Cubans
under Soviet command
in the largest mechanised battle in Africa,
apart from those in the Second World War
and we had a decisive victory
that is now being denied
while history books are being rewritten
and fiction is creeping in
and maybe the new propaganda, the lies
of the new history suits you far better.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lineage
Oh the tangled web we weave,
we're born, we live and then we leave.
But the web reached out in all directions
and in so doing we made connections.
They each became a grand design
in the life we lived and left behind.
Those we came from never knew
how their genes would later affect you.
Grandfathers, grandmothers and all your kin
are hidden quietly within your skin.
Your family tree is rooted in you.
Its limbs and branches, though not in view
have helped to shape the life you live
and you in turn will silently give
the new ones born into your line
the pattern in the web, a place so fine.
It will grow and spread far and wide
and those who came before and died
will surface in so many different ways.
And their feeling of closeness will fill your days.
Oh the tangled web we weave
is so marvelous I do believe.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The relation dilutes.
We two were one as sons,
A pair as brothers, two as fathers
And aliens as grandfathers
In our relation as we grew up.
The time will dilute the relation.
25.03.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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