Akasha
by Deivis Garcia
Kenya: 700 people a day die from AIDS. This is generally blamed on
tropical disease.
South Africa: A woman is raped every 17 seconds.
"[AIDS] has become a terrifying monster that is slashing people down. Exposing it
will bring some discipline to society."
---Grace Kinangoi, teacher and friend of Paul
Omukuba, who broke local taboo by asking his sister and loved ones to let the true nature of his death be known (thereby,
ironically, making the news).
Dedicated to Paul Omukuba and Nkosi Johnson.
TABOO
by the whisper of a leaf
When the leaves whisper, there is little need to worry.
When the lion can be heard, it is best to watch
all horizons,
When the bullets break the sky and great silences above, run to the end of running.
When you tire though,
it will take all your might to sit, listen, and discern the language of a leaf.
---Someone from Before
Akasha was born of a well.
One day she was not, and then one day she was.
A very thirsty woman had gone
for a drink and had found baby Akasha instead.
The day was good, for the well had been a barren one.
"Look what I have found!" the Old Woman had told all who cared to listen.
"What is that bundle upon your
heart?" asked all who cared to know.
"This is a jewel that looks like a drop of water." returned Old Woman.
Crowd fell
silent in awe of what was now newborn: something had come from nothing.
Old Woman, who was once Young Girl, proved to be the very substance of a Mother.
Akasha's devotion in return
proved to be a loophole in the binds of kin: Daughter.
Old Woman, who was once Pretty Lady, was grateful to be given Akasha.
Old
Woman, who was once Battered Mistress and now Luckiest Person, thus met joy.
"Mumma" asked Akasha one day, "What is joy?"
"Joy is an accident Akasha." returned Old Woman.
"Oh. And
what kind of accident is that Mumma?" wondered Akasha.
"Joy is the kind of accident that finds a jewel of water in a barren
well."
This is the manner in which Akasha and Mumma grew together past the seasons.
And of course, Old Woman Mumma
grew too, for agape blooms all within its stream.
It is quite imperative that you understand this, Old Friend.
Perhaps,
it is not too late for you, perhaps it is not.
Every place, every field, every life bears a legend.
Some are grown, some are made, some are blurry smears
that run from definition.
Who what wheres and whys surround such legends in a cloud of lazy murk.
This is the very cloak,
or so we're told, that makes a legend formidable, adverse.
Born of a what-not, there one day came a whisper,
Born of a whisper, there one day came a shadow,
Born
of a shadow, there one day came a legend,
Born of a legend, there one day came---
"Taboo is coming! Taboo is coming!"
All doors were locked and bolts were set bolts were set in twice.
"Taboo
is coming! Taboo is coming!"
Candles lit, prayers muttered, men and women nestled with grey mice.
A number much too much to be imagined soon came to matter, factually be.
Taboo had killed many yesterday.
One
day they were and also they were not, hear the felling, untimely felling of the tree!
Taboo had killed many yesterday.
"What can we do? What can we say?" said all who cared to live.
Fear becomes their lack of answer, for Taboo
has birthed a magic in re'verse.
"Where can we run? Where can we hide?" said all who cared to try.
Leaves whisper with
absent tongues, and all resign their heads.
A number much too sad to be concieved now began to fat, and fat oh so obscenely well it did.
Taboo had killed
many yesteryear.
One day we were and also we were not, hear the soundless, creeping raging storm.
Taboo had killed many
yesteryear.
"What have you done? What have you said?" said those afraid to die.
Yet ever the same old answer: "Taboo
is dancing magic in re'verse!"
"Were will you go? Were will you live?" said those afraid for others.
But the song cooly
veined its inhuman, distant, reign: "Taboo is singing magic in reverse!"
A number that should have never prospered is now a solid fact.
Taboo is gaining weight.
Tomorrow night
might be, then again...
Taboo the bloated laughing king, his reach exceeding grasp.
"Taboo is coming! Taboo is coming!"
Double-bolts unlocked, unholy repitition.
"Taboo is coming! Taboo
is coming!"
The king is eeking through.
700 to Tens of Millions beads on Taboo's patch-quilt cloak.
A royal crown upon a whisper upon a shadow of
a leaf.
A single teardrop holds Taboos's drape of Oh so Oceaning Lament.
An Empire balanced loosely upon seven-headed,
seven dragon stares.
"When is tomorrow? Why am I sorrow?" asked all who bowed their heads.
Taboo's answer: "The tropic jungle
will let you have your rest."
"Why are we crying? Why are we crying?"
Taboo says from the kernel of his 'No': "Prolly
cuzza sumthin' You did!"
SILENCE.
A fact is a fact is a pact is a fact...
Shhhh! (noise.)
Now the orchestral hush of one daring...stare.
Akasha once was not, and then one day she altogether was.
A girl born from a well, one day must go back
to its proliferating spring.
Akasha one day is, and also one day will not be.
It is sad, but with no end, the real story
cannot begin.
Old Woman Mumma, Poor Lamenting You,
You who once had an Accidental Joy, might one day have it go away from
you.
Luckiest Mother Mumma, Lucky Lucky You,
You who once had no thing one day, on a crooked walk, soon inherited a
world.
A twig goes CRACK! A leaf goes SHOOShhhh!
Wind carries the latest in debate.
There is nothing in the
world so conspiring as the leaves in arbitrary brush.
Akasha early learned from Wise Mumma the magic of one stubborn drop
of faith.
Every place, every field, every life bears a home-sown legend.
Some are called, some are named, some are
silent strengths that walk through definition.
"I am here and am." say these verbs in wordless recreation.
This is the
very stare, as sure we know, that makes a legend uniform as verse.
On a crooked road, at twilight's outer hub, Akasha walks the way.
Taboo in his portable hunger-dark, hears
every single step of her breaking weather.
On a crooked bend of neverending road, Akasha has a seat.
Taboo surprised
yet hungry still, raises seven of fourteen eyebrows.
"Silly little girl! Foolish drop of sweat! Know you not that it is Oh so wise to run?"
Akasha's silence
is a pregnant water-well.
"Foolish little bead! Silly drop of girl! Know you not the back-word magic of Taboo?
Akasha,
ancestral glacier, bears no cadence still.
All seven of Taboo's heads seven times perplex at the statue's insubordination.
"I have heard the whisper
of the leaf." says Akasha, kindred drop of 'Yes'.
All seven of Taboo's heads seven times in vex at unclouding syncopation.
"I
have seen the center of your what-not." says Akasha, light of fluid fight.
Taboo is growing murky, unweavingly composed, in nervous excitation.
"You may cut off one head, and from
there shall grow another!" says the wicked legend.
Taboo feels mos' better now, more of form, less exasparated.
"You
may cut off all seven, and from there I'll grow eleven!" the legend laughs at heaven.
Akasha smiles "My foolish lack, You with heart of flaming ire."
Taboo grows pale as she Young Bead reads
his naked constitution.
Akasha's laugh: "My heart is aimed at yours, and mine is borne of water."
Taboo's now mist as
Akasha steams one final kiss: "I fight fire with Mumma's speaking water."
(copyright 10.5.2002)
