Generational.
Is the down to load.
Traditional in its comfort.
And its acceptance pre-approved.
With a remaining to stay the same.
Unchanged and noticeable too!
Then fast the winds,
Come to blow and begins...
Revealing the rust.
Under decades of collected dust.
That has found those left behind.
Staring at a clock watched,
Long to have stopped.
Yet...
Kept are beliefs,
Time affords them opportunities.
To catch up and breathe easily.
With a doing repeatedly to follow,
In the bare footsteps of their ancestors.
Shoeless, rootless and identities gone.
No longer there to declare theirs.
Homogenized they have been.
Whipped up and mixed,
Into a blended culture of shared despairs.
But few if any at all,
From each generation...
Predictably seeks to observe,
Beyond their limited realities.
With motivation or incentive,
To get up off their butts.
Curious enough to make efforts endeavored.
Without them to await,
Permission to them given.
Fearing their ancestors would not approve,
Them having initiative.
Or using their minds to think for themselves!
Since,
When their ancestors did this...
They had been mentally and physically abused.
To even think of themselves as human beings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem