I am an American, in the land of dreams,
I do what you wish, a puppet’s dance,
I have found my perfect world, or so it seems,
In the pursuit of a perfect trance.
Yet, reality blurs, like frozen streams
I put my fingers in my ears, to silence the plea,
I put my fingers in my eyes so that fractured dreams
I can deny– because I was unable to see
I plunge my head into the vast water’s expanse,
to drown the discord, to set my spirit free.
I reach out seeking solace in the political dance.
I thought that I could not be hurt if I did not disagree
What are we as Americans if in strife we are burdened
In memoriam, I plant bleeding heart seeds from a time gone by,
but an ice age has covered every corner of America’s gardens.
Now the flowers are only a memory, a whisper, a nostalgic sigh.
Where blooms once thrived, now cold hearts are unburdened.
Another incident, a ripple in the momentary calm,
Yet, with wounds unseen, beneath the shirt, my heart hardens
A fracture in the tranquil balm.
Insolent storms strike at the skull,
but if we stay mindless they can cause no harm.
A tempest within, uncontrolled and full.
No need to worry, we mustn’t raise the alarm.
It is just a distraction in the lull.
In the interlude, there is not a moment to reflect,
as our voices become void and null.
no pause in the narrative, no moment unchecked.
The invalid snuck in and stole the American heart,
The invalid that we failed to detect.
The loss leaves a void in our nation, a missing part.
American history, they say, is Un-American to respect.
One suitcase, carrying American histories now untold,
stolen sometime during our journey, during the grand parade,
Narratives are silenced, both from the young and from the old.
But I am an American, in the shadows and the shade.
As an American, I will be bold.
As an American, I will be Brave–
until we have defeated this authoritarian cold,
and America, as Americans, we save.