The wind brings in such emotions as love and hate
Our minds remember that of which we called fate
To the beat of a drum the sound of her voice reigns
Yet her only sin is believing that she gains
With a past like hers I would only speak of free
There’s nothing like finding yourself not able to see
The world we are in spells hate of such a thing
A woman’s love can only hear her own Angel sing
The scent of her hair fallen against her skin
Only brings her back to that special time again
A passion so deep and long over due
Just when you thought you were all through
A feeling deep down inside barely seeps
As an uncontrollable love for her finally leaps
The kind of thoughts this brings to her mind
The kind of wants this has let her leave behind
To have everything she’s ever wanted in that hour
To find all that’s to be found past that picked flower
Her smile only shines with that glimmer in her eye
You’ll always know, true love won’t lie
I Lena Rai, am an aspiring Native American poet who loves to write poetry and in her spare time do bits of research finding lost loved ones for people. I graduated high School in a small town just south of the Mackinaw Bridge with accomplishments such as the Literary Magazine, School Newspaper, Yearbook, and Select Ensemble Finalist under my belt. During this time I got published in The International Library of Poetry and further succeeded with offers afterward for my winning essay “The Accomplishments of Gerald R. Ford as President of the United States” for the Gerald R. Ford renaming ceremony in Grand Rapids, MI. Following I won a cash prize and a spot in the MINACT INC. News of Fall 2004 with U.S. Representative Vernon Ehlers and Ford’s brother Richard Ford.
My next accomplishments in my down time as a mother later on, wrote two poetry book ‘s titled: “Voices Silently Speak” and “Whispering a Lady’s Secret” where I began to reveal many struggles I encountered in my life. With several blogs underway I became well-known across the internet and social areas.
I’ve taken into relation many of my life’s occurrences in a journal like lyrical form and gathered them to enlightening a narrative struggle of a Native American female trying to come out of her tomboy worldly nature and recognize her inner tribal yearning. Each poem carries its own passionate wording characteristic to something special or important in my life.
Unfortunately in many habits of our nation today poems are cautiously dissected to examine and specify their origin and purpose; whereas the beauty in this passionate are seems to be under a vast shield of confusion and fallacy afraid to reawaken to such a commonly used self-expression and honesty. My vast types of writing commences that freedom of expression again in such a way that readers don’t have to feel they are in obligation to scrutinize every poem for its meaning, but freely enjoy the words as they flow to the paper and gradually accept the sensations that arise. Such a striking rose stands in a garden with its innocent splendor at stake in silent anticipation that no one will selfishly pluck its petal and spoil its life. For its removal will give scientific data its will, but will take away the passion that’s been formed in its creation and growth. Therefore the secretly charming blossom that once sprouted from the ground you peered now loses the source of simplicity that your curiosity drew to its existence.
I feel my vast types of poetry and writings stand on that same foundation and tend to get taken with the same misconception of its creation. I have put together many pieces of writing throughout the years as free-standing and beautiful as well as to allow the liberty of their minds to absorb every exact account of this Native American female and her struggle to be.
Throughout my years of trials and struggles and between abuse, neglect, abandonment, near death, and straight up depression, my children and closest family have continued to give me strength on a daily basis and remind me why I continue to write and learn.
You just never really know how many people you really touch until it just about comes up and smacks you in the face. You never know what people are thinking about your minor mental capabilities until it seems to creep into your life by the buzz of a phone. Somehow finding out the there are people out there with my words of so-called wisdom hanging on their wall in some other state or country by any state of happiness or unrelated approval, I fall to my knees as my heart pounds at a beat unknown to many. My breath falls heavy in a subconscious mode of reality that maybe just maybe there is someone out there that is inspired by the words that come out of my mouth or the thoughts that come out of the fingers that hit the keys.
If there was someone out there that knows what I write, that almost hears my whispers of advice, that actually smiles at the thought of my writing coming to the screen enough that she prints it out for other to see. That she prints it out for other to feel. That she prints it out for other to know deep down inside what it’s like to feel that pure and that free of themselves as she does when her eyes grace these pages. If there is a chance that there is someone out there in this situation or circumstance just crying to let it all out.. That’s why I’m here. That’s why my writing exists. That’s why my passions for women and love and life and lust and all these emotions exist. That’s the worth of me sharing such secret or unheard of … silenced… hushed… not spoken about.. naughty… emotions and feelings. To the point that two books later, I find out.. I haven’t made and difference and … she knows too… but does she know that I know… ?