avatarCarlo Zeno

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f">You say your genes are my genes, your diseases are my diseases.</p><p id="cebe">You talk of karma — <i>what goes around, comes around</i>.</p><p id="6777">As if you are not you, and I am not I — as if I am <i>you</i>.</p><p id="960d">How can I be sure this heavy lifelong debt is legitimate?</p><p id="4431">How come I have no memory of your crooked broken life?</p><p id="980a">You might look like me in those black and white photos — but are you?</p><p id="d39a">Ancestor, Ancestor, tell me what you need. I need to be free.</p><p id="833a"><b>© Carlo Zeno 2022</b></p><p id="1fa8">__________________</p><p id="0609">Thank you for reading, and special thanks to <a href="undefined">augmented man</a> for providing this space for poets. If you’d like to support you can buy me a <a href="https://ko-fi.com/carlozeno7575">coffee</a> or read two more poems below. 🙏</p><div id="7a0e" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/when-our-masks-come-undone-a15a180e2295"> <div> <div> <h2>When Our Masks Come Undone</h2> <div><h3>The cruel way of the world</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*DOmOR3BRoTCVkjdI)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="d0cc" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-dinner-party-c0bbcc90257e"> <div> <div>

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Ancestral Grip

Talking back at the dead

Photo taken in Andalusia by Author

Angry ancestor, don’t hold these strings so violently.

I am not solely your puppet — I am half human.

This house of flesh is cracked, rib and sternum are crooked.

I did not engineer these walls. Let me fucking breathe.

Ancestor, ancestor, what gives you the right to pull these strings?

Show me the contract. Why must I complete your unfinished business?

Whose violent hands moulded this body into this shape?

I try to change the shape with the shy winds of breathing,

with the heavy patience of centuries. But do I have centuries?

These ribs and bones will only bend so much in this prison.

Fate is still fate no matter how much I shout that I am free.

Antagonistic Ancestor, you know how much my free will is worth.

I’ve been in your grip for half of a life now — pawn between thumb and finger.

What exactly do you want from me? What huge mistake must I make up for you?

Can’t you let your vendettas dissolve with your ashes, or remain buried underground?

When you finally sleep, I will also finally sleep. Why must we struggle?

You say your genes are my genes, your diseases are my diseases.

You talk of karma — what goes around, comes around.

As if you are not you, and I am not I — as if I am you.

How can I be sure this heavy lifelong debt is legitimate?

How come I have no memory of your crooked broken life?

You might look like me in those black and white photos — but are you?

Ancestor, Ancestor, tell me what you need. I need to be free.

© Carlo Zeno 2022

__________________

Thank you for reading, and special thanks to augmented man for providing this space for poets. If you’d like to support you can buy me a coffee or read two more poems below. 🙏

Poetry
Ancestors
Fate
Free Will
The Power Of Poetry
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