Best Incas Poems
Baile con migo, hips made from the rhythm of merengés and cumbias, samba, swagger and a pinch of azucar mixed into my backbone.
My first language was Spanish.
Learned from sweet stories told by my papi at bedtime.
My tongue a formation of the stardust of my heritage,
An intertwined galaxy of rolled r’s and the pledge of allegiance.
It was something I would soon forget after I was told it was wrong
Taught a new way to introduce myself “mi nombre es” turned to “my name is” after the girl in my class told me she couldn’t understand me.
So I was taught to reject the language of my family and to be proud to call myself American over Mexican.
Now my Spanish 2 native class seems so god damn foriegn and I can't seem to remember what comes after domingo on my pop quiz.
I would learn to hate my name, much preferring something like Tiffany,
Leaving behind my silent TL and X that sounds like an S because they said it was strange.
When I visit my grandmother all I could do is nod or shake my head,
Because her native language sounds like a tongue twister I can't seem to master.
So she reminds me that the colors in my soul and the rhythm in my bones are blessings and that I come from the Incas, the Mayans, the Aztecs, los Mexicas, who built an empire nunca imaginado.
That we are a children of an oscuro pasado,
A mixture of pain, sadness and oppression,
But we inherited the strength.
We have inherited the passion.
She reminds me that my name holds the power of the most legendary Aztec princesses who ruled with the grace of the most beautiful flower.
So this is for the women that still name their children in nahuatl and the men who wake up on Sunday mornings to listen to Vicente Fernandez with their fathers,
And families that still pass on recipes of arroz con pollo.
Because we are the sons and the daughters,
And we hold the stories,
The journeys of the remembered,
Those who walked through deserts, waded through rivers.
We wear their legacies on our shoulders with pride,
And we do not lose ourselves to broken perceptions,
But rise above with the help of our powerful stories.
Our melodies, our galaxies,
Por que somos Latino-Americanos
And we will not be forgotten
Sacred Lake Titicaca
High atop the Andes, between Bolivia and Peru,
sits the birthplace of the Incas, sacred Lake Titicaca.
A powerhouse of nature through and through,
it was created by the Inca god of the lake, Viracocha.
A treetop view showcases unique flora and fauna that abound,
from llamas to fresh water snails dozing in the sun;
rainbow trout and other colorful fish are found
as sunlight reflects golden on the lake’s horizon.
Flocks of snowy egrets among the rare totora reed
share this natural habitat with slate-gray Andean coots,
snowy egrets, and white-tufted grebes diving for feed,
while parrots scratch their heads perched on mangrove roots.
Sounds of nature overcome the silence of twilight,
as huge water frogs on lily pads croak their lullabies.
The black-crowned night heron forages in the dying light,
and gloomy catfish float underground for a tasty prize.
Incas believed that when their time on earth was done,
the mystical clear blue water was a portal to the stars,
and into the depths of Titicaca, their spirits would return,
to reunite with their gods and venerable ancestors.
05-25-2017
From the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound
the lamas leap and the water falls-- clear,
mindful, the wind's play on the Quechua's ground.
The majesty of the Andes astounds
for from behind the clouds, the peaks reappear.
From the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound.
Like great red-clay dunes or snow capped mounds;
courts rise and fall in terrain, so austere;
mindful, the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
Rainbows of red, blue, and gold oft surround
distant ruins of gray stones, now severe
from the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound.
Solid, earth-bound, sun-browned, lost to the hounds,
so, Quechua shepherds bound stairs cavalier--
mindful; the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
Pachamama's love surrounds without bounds,
long gone are the conquers; all life is here,
from the mountain's peak, the wooden flutes sound--
mindful, the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
* Quechua is one of the native people of Peru
**The Dominican Monks set hounds trained to kill
on the natives who refused conversion.
*** Pachamama, fertility Godess in Incas Mythos
Riding stormy winds to the past
To find out how we lost our way
How long did the great ones last
Mayans left their pyramids where trees sway
We are left to ponder the whys
As vines constrict their ruins
Incas left their calling card in the mountains
A vast empire now left to the clouds
Winds take me to the Roman empire
They were great indeed but now their ruins decay
Deserted coliseums tell the story
As they crumbled under wars and strife
The winds return me to the present
It journeyed on, it did not stay
But I heard it whisper before it left;
'Once again they've lost the way'!
8-17-2022
While writing about Machu Picchu the lost city of the INCAS , I thought about composing this
poem ! The INCAS around 1100 AD , worshipped the Sun and lived very close to Nature . In
this poem an Inca youth remembers his love with great fondness !
LOVE UNDER THE INCA SKY !
When I planted a kiss on you cherry lips ,
Those tender lips so innocent and pure ;
Between the tall bushes and slender trees ,
Gaining strenght to live and endure !
With your black lock's cascading flow ,
And your beauty all shining bright ;
When you anxiosly looked back to see ,
And hurried back with steps so light !
At night under the starry sky I think of
you as my guiding star !
Wth your laughter like the merry mountain
stream ,
You seem so near and yet so far !
I retire to bed with your happy thoughts ,
And think of the goodness of your heart ;
Of kissing you behind those bushes once
more ,
When our lips will lock never to part !
- Raj Nandy
New Delhi
Friends , while reading the History of the Incas , I came across the wonderous story of their
mail runners , the 'chasquis' ! Kindly read their story !
THE MAIL RUNNERS - ON THE INCA TRAIL !
(COURIER SERVICE)
The Inca Empire during their hey-days, *
Controlled a large Empire of an elongated
shape!
On the western coast of Latin America, -
All the way from parts of Ecuador and Colombia!
With parts of Brazil in the east;
Including Chile and Bolivia in the south and
south-east;
While the Pacific Ocean washed their long western
beach!
Where the great Andes range like a raised spine, -
appeared out of reach!
Yet on the central verge of this Andes’ range,
Was located their capital Cuzco with its grand
defence !
The Incas had no horses or wheels to facilitate
communication,
But had an efficient courier service within their
nation!
They relied entirely on their ‘chasquis’, - those
valiant mail runners,
For sending messages within the Inca Empire!
These runners ran on that historic ‘Inca Trail’,
Crossing gorges(pogos) and mountain tracks, -
before night fell!
And rested at ‘tambos’** during their segmented
race!
Those Incas had no written scripts those days,
And used knots in ropes as coded messages!
These ‘quipus’ at relay stations changed hands,
While their runners took them to the remotes corners
of Inca land!
Their suspension bridges with ropes indigenously
made,
Formed their roadways as their Empire spread!
And those bridges were maintained every year,
By villagers rendering public service to the Inca
Empire!
Those valiant runners could run in a day, -
A distance of 250 miles , as experts say !
And could put to shame the Marathon runners
of our day!
I salute those sturdy Incas for their unique stone
architectures,
Who honored their Gods and their ancestors!
Their ‘chasquis’, those valiant mail runners and
their nimble feet;
Without horses and wheels the Incas ruled a mighty
Empire complete !
-Raj Nandy
Notes :-
* During the fifteenth century Incas were at height of
their power!
**Tambos’= relay stations , for the Mail Runner (chasqui)
to rest and handover the ‘quipu’ containing coded
messages to the next runner - to follow the Inca Trail!
Thanks for reading ! - Raj Nandy
I wandered the vastness of the universe
Just to meet you here
I considered many life times to glimpse
Your adorable essence
I explored the magical land of Atlantis
Even the technological Lemuria
I lived a couple of thousands of years in Sumeria
And learned to spoke magical words
I lived with the hundreds of lambs in Syria
To learn how to live with them in the barren land
I was in Mongolia to learn how to cook food
And created my own menu
I was with the Emperor and Empress of Japan
To be one of their counsels
I was once a daughter of a peasant in Italy
Learned to live with a single meal a day
I learned to fly an airplane in France
And leave my profession for marriage
I craved to wrote songs in Canada
But still longed for someone I knew
I was with you in the battle ground of ancient Egypt
I learned how to kill and to be killed then
I tried to discover more about myself
Lived inside a cave of mountainous Indonesia
I entered the great temple of India
To learn how to be the master of my surroundings
But died when a mysterious epidemic spread
I created more thoughts and realized inside a cell in Chile
And killed myself for an escape to my wrong ordeals
I existed again to work on my rippled karma
I visited the temples of Tibet to find peace
I discovered how to heal myself
And every person I tormented
I roamed around the great City of Brazil
But to no avail I never saw someone like you
I remembered why I am here then
I still chased you in further ground of Incas
But nothing happened
You still left me for another person
I continued to soar within this land
And was killed while counting miles across the sea of England
I explored the lessons of to be abandoned
As I always waited for this love
I was catapulted again in the battle fields of the Philippines
Where I was killed in an ambush with my three comrades
Yet my desire never materialized
I returned here being wary you was out of life again
I decided to go back to the golden planet
But escaped before the capsule like craft flown
While have had a thought in mind
That I am expected you to came
And now finally we bumped each other again
This will be the last life I shall chose to see you
Since I planned long before this moment
I will be home where I am from
And be one with my sparks.
Du Einsame,
in den Bergen getrotzt,
versteckt in den Wolken
getragen vom Geist des Inka,
hochgepriesen,
wie von Geisterhand
überragst du das
zerklüftete Tal des Urubamba.
Stein auf Stein,
gebaut mit großem Geschick,
geboren durch die Kraft
der Inkas.
Zufluchtstätte
der letzten Überlebenden,
verborgen vor den Augen
der Eindringlinge
aus dem so entfernten Spanien,
die Feuer und Tod brachten,
dich aber nie sahen.
Umhüllst dich noch heute
mit nebelgesponnenen Rätseln
wie neugeboren
aus tristem Gestein.
Deine Seele,
lebendig,
strahlt Erhabenes
und über deinen Mauern,
jetzt nur noch Heimstatt
der Götter,
zieht wie einst
der Kondor
seine vibrierenden Kreise.
---------------------------------------
You lonesome,
withstanding
in mountains,
hidden in clouds,
carried by the spirit of Incas,
highly praised,
as from ghostly hands
are you extending beyond
the rugged valley of the Urubamba.
Stone by stone,
built with spectacular craftmansship,
born by the power
of man.
Retreat
of the last survivors,
hidden from the eyes
of the intruders
from far away Spain,
who carried fire and death,
but never saw you.
You cover even today
in foggy-spun mystery
like newly born
from solitude stone.
Your spirit,
living,
radiates nobility
and above your murals
now only home of the Gods,
a condor is drawing as once
his vibrating circles.
------------------------------------------
Sitio solitario,
resistiendo en las montañas
escondido en las nubes
protegido por el espíritu del Inca,
egregio elogiado
como de una mano de fantasma
tu te levantas
sobre el valle hendido del Urubamba.
Piedra por piedra,
construido con gran destreza,
nacido por la fuerza
de los Incas.
Refugio
de últimos sobrevivientes,
escondido antes de los ojos
de invasores
del tan distante España,
que traeron fuego y muerte,
pero nunca te veían.
Te envuelves todavía
con enigmas hiladas por nieblas
como recién nacido
de rocas tristes.
Tu alma viva
brilla altura
y sobre tus murallas,
todavía sitio
de dioses,
gira como antiguamente
el condor
sus circulos vibrantes.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Machu Picchu
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: June/2015
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"Lost City Of The Incas"
I was taking an early morning walk. A beautiful day had dawned,
cool and crisp, with only a whisper of breeze. I am told it’s revitalizing;
it will do my health much good. But, you see things to sadden you.
Sometimes being early kills you;
sitting on a tree
early bird scans the mowed lawn
for an early worm
I am told too to play it right. Stay safe within your boundary.
Stepping out of bounds can be dangerous. Tread the well-trodden path.
Not to take unnecessary risks;
did everything right
like fish stayed in my waters
got caught and filleted
Life is amazing. It’s an endless maze of dead ends.
It is not simple living a life -- It’s full of misgivings and mishaps.
We couldn’t figure out the purpose of life even after a life-time of living;
like guinea pig wheel
with all the running around
and getting nowhere
I looked at the amazing stone faces of long-forgotten gods of ancient civilizations,
From the Incas, the Aztecs, the Mayans, the Romans, the Greeks, the Persians to
the Egyptians -- they all believed in a continued life in the great beyond;
I picked a stray
stone and chiseled myself a
god; then, I worshiped
~Haibun contest by Scott Thirtyseven
TOGETHER
We were one, brothers in continents
We were alike, humans in this world
Millions ages ago, we trek together
You the lovely Maya,Incas and Menorah's
You the friendly Chin, Malay and ...........
Paying homage to each in the past centuries, we love
Yes. It is true,I remembered
The great treks from Amazonia through Sahel to Himalaya
We rested in the overgrowth's of Borneo
Those nights we hunt together
Those dawns we worship together
The tree Idols, the Sun, the Moon and the crop gods
That is the blood of brotherliness in us
Warriors of Asanja,
The keepers of the sacred covenants.
True brothers, true humans
Never depart and let not us
Our journey is near to end
Let be together and not asunder
To pray our last.
Call to Amadioha, Chukwu and Onyankopong
As smokes of burnt sacrifices rises high
As those olden days
Calling to him, that shadow of our messenger
To go and see the master for us.
It is amazing how many super important people there are in my hometown!
At almost any intersection, I will be eclipsed by at least 2-3 individuals who are cooler
Than I could ever aspire to think to become.
Lately I see them everywhere!
They look just like the people on the covers of those high quality magazines I see
In line at the grocery store when I am buying my crate of ramen noodles, and
The 4 for $5 Bar-S brand hot dogs.
I can't help but to think, "WOW! Why haven't I seen any of these people on t.v. yet?"
My adulation for people like Newton, the Incas, Brahmms, Klimt has been misplaced!
Just when I felt like a wart infested slug for my lack of awareness,
A gracious miracle occurred:
This girl/woman/tranny pulled up next to me at a long traffic light.
She wore those wonderful Jackie-o knock offs that almost cover the entire face,
Making her nose look like this teensy-weensy little button!
The a.c. blew her hair around like she was in a photo shoot, and
After removing the cell phone that had neurally implanted itself to her head,
She stared straight ahead, as if in a trance.
I was sure that she was probably in deep thought concerning ways to feed starving babies,
Or contemplating the lines for her next secret audition that only she knows about.
Once the light turned chartreuse, she accelerated like a photon;
This is when I noticed the scintillating rims that resembled the UFO that I communicated with
Down by irrigation ditch the day before.
This was a sign... I had to catch up with her and share this knowledge!
I followed her the length of the city until she finally pulled
Her behemoth into some swanky day spa that had no airs of pretentiousness whatsoever.
It was weird because as I approached her vehicle, I began to sputter and stammer
All of my words; I even began to inexplicably lurch as I walked towards her.
When she saw me her eyes widened to the size of coffee saucers, and
The next thing I knew was there were these wires attached to my chest!
Suddenly I was dreaming of the time I ate mushrooms and touched a frayed cord
On an alarm clock.
When I awoke on the hot asphalt, my seraph had vanished into a mid afternoon haze.
I had to give a toothy smile though- I knew that my body just couldn't handle the intensity
Of her heavenly nimbus!
*Image of Burgmansia Queen Of The Incas.
Sanguinea, Queen Of The Incas
In the lush jungles of constant condensation,
A royal order of an ancient kingdom,
That had ruled from an unknown beginning,
A caste system, whereby, a legacy of femininity,
Ruled over a vast domain, she'd be the Queen,
Known by one name since the start of their governance,
Sanguinea, Queen of all the Inca lands.
Regal and statuesque, donning a regalian dress,
That flowed down the length of her,
Of velvety rubies that drapes in reds.
In her royal court, she is surrounded,
By faces of envious greens that cowers,
Neath the richness of her extensive rule.
She is guarded by an army,
Bearing a powerful tawny armor,
They are a tower of strength that lifts their Queen,
So she can be seen by her doting subjects below.
Sanguinea, Queen of the Incas,
She would lure and entertain her unwary guest,
Her body full of emanating scents beguiles them to ecstasy,
And if she senses danger, she eludes a toxin,
That renders, the once seduced guest,
To be another victim of her passion.
The majestic Queen Sanguinea,
Overlooks her realms expanse,
From her hilltop palaces,
And its courtyard of still filled green faces.
With magnificence and savvy governance of her jungle kingdom,
She bears a formidable presence as she trumpets it, away,
And her magnanimity is without question,
For it is well known throughout and beyond, her wet domain,
For she is, after all, her royal majesty,
Sanguinea, Queen of the Incas.
*Sanguinea, of the aforementioned version--as there are several varieties, is a rather large trumpet red flower that is poisonous. It hangs downward from trees in a Peruvian jungle of South America (as pictured).
2019 May 31
*1st Place*
A STRAND (1074)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 February 15
ECSTASY
O morning breeze of West and South Asia
Let my soul sip sherbet
From your breasts like lily of the Incas
Nightingale of the night,
The aroma of your voice,
So sweet and soothing as the Messiah's breath
Is the seven goddesses of Hellenistic World's melody
And your sable tresses ,
Full of Flowers of Taif
Whose fragrance,
Is the royal perfume of the Pharaohs
Lull my inner sorrows to repose
Mi orgullo and drighten of my soul ,
In the sea of grief - I crave for solace from you - please do not forsake me !
Here's a keffiyeh - here's a thobe or kandura
Wear them!
Your curvy body I yearn to see
Into your heart's prison,
I am girded - Please keep me from the world of separation
With your love,
Neither world nor family is needed
For to your soul I am entangled in saecula saeculorum.
When sharks kill people we go hunt them,
though the sea's not our home, it is theirs,
and when we trespass and get kicked in the ass
do the same thing to Lions and bears.
The Aztecs fell foul of the Spanish,
the Incas wiped out by them too,
later Western marauders extended their borders
and took out Commanche and Sioux.
On the side of the Pioneer space probe
you'll find a gold anodized plaque,
in the 70's we sent it, to you we have lent it
but one day we would like it back.
The plaque has a man and a woman,
man's hand raised in peace as you'll see,
but when we cross new frontiers
I think that my main fear
is you won't understand irony.