An Ode to Mamdani, perhaps…

An intriguing insight

comes to me.

My “tribe” is  keen

that I leave it,

that I leave

the village

and the shelter

of it’s church.

Of course my tribe

is invention, isn’t yours?

But I found

this impulse

in a cupboard,

In it’s lore: we are charged

with preparing, educating

if you must, our young

as adventurers

and explorers.

Preparing them to leave

the cover

of petticoats.

Of mother.

Not cowering and

boot licking below.

Try it, it is bracing.

     We find this

is what

humanity needs

right now, not it’s opposite,

not the closing huddle

in the Temple,

a stepping out

to meet and to honor

and be with,

other tribes.

To discover

the samenesses,

not map out

the exceptionalisms, no more.

     We are a tribe for the truculent,

not for the afraid.

We do not need

protection.

We are not hunted,

we are not prey.

   We, my tribe and I,

my invented but sifted tradition,

have found

That fear is

usually

centered in guilt.

You know you

committed some injustice

and

you sense that

Karma is due.

In other words,

if you find

an irrationally fearful tribe,

you are looking at

A nurturer of guilt as motivator.

Hmm?

    And, of course, your deity,

burdened this way,

will tell you to kill without thought. That is a god you will invent.

Naturally.

    For the rest of my life

I will seek the tendencies

of my tribal invention

in yours. In you,

the large and the flaccid.

As of today

there is no common ground.

Hints, but

nothing tangible,

glimpses but no glow.

    The cave I live in

seethes with guilt….

by it’s own lights…

I am a foreigner,

in every chamber

of this cavern,

I am a foreigner,

where masses huddle

and cling and fail

to provide their young ones

with enough to simply stand,

who put fear

in their lunch boxes and

vengeance

in their satchels.   

    I prophesy,

it is a facet of my tribe,

prophecy

and the laughter

that attends it,

these children will rebel,

will have a real revolution,

not the changing of the hats

That you boast on,

they will do

this out of sheer boredom,

the weariness

of your victimized legacy

that has covered your culture

in fog for centuries,

hidden and  hidden

from them

what you have

concealed

from yourselves:

your persecution fantasy

is  as deep as your guilt,

no deeper but that is enough,

to destroy you.

   So, so long,

it’s been boring to know ya.

A man warns that

Zohran Mamdani is an actor,

a Democrat plant,

which is interesting

I guess, but it doesn’t matter.

It is not him, it is time.

We are tired

of the immigrant

narrative, so cosy,

so victimized

and victimizing.

The stories that you tell

to your children, the legacy,

the passing  on of shalt nots,

the stories you tell

that were told to you

that you never tested,

or rejected, to discover

yourself, would fail

to measure up in my tribe.

Do not try

to pass down your moanings,

any more.