A stroll through the local market,
Flurry of kids, and the hawker's racket
Vegetables fresh, Fruits plenty,
People swinging their bags empty,
Everything so enticing, the eyes crave it all.
A draft of generosity floods my view,
A lady helping her limping beau
The kid that hardly reaches my knees,
Furnishes her kerchief for the old man's sneeze
A blind couple navigate the hubbub,
Hand-in-hand, their wary footsteps map the suburb
Yet, as a lady calls for alms,
They stretch out their palms
And I can't help but think,
Maybe this world is truly magical.
Witnessing the magical world in all its glory,
My ignorance of everything tragic is shattered to bits,
The veil with intricate embroidered motifs
Thrown apart as all lights focus on the blanched reality of the powerless plenty.
The television screens reflect their pain
As their cries echo through the rooms of my glasshouse
The beautiful painting that faded through the years,
Undertones of grim red come to the fore,
Varnish chips out, showing filths of yore.
The morning papers come filled with images of gore,
And the evening news with a promise to score
Socials flooded with visuals that echo the depravity,
A depravity whose gravity is failing to float,
In the minds of a humanity that tunes into a story of the elite.
The ideal world of my past,
A past where this child believed care and compassion,
Were fuel for the cogs and wheels of Earth,
Clings on to the whispers of hope,
As love dances around tyrannical hate.
The stage is filled with blood turned brown,
Ghastly red of the butchered new
Drips onto the dias, plink-o-plop
With spectators busy interpreting nuances,
"Do you think they deserve to wake up to a new sun?
A sun that shines on the land of free air,
Like we all do?"
Even as love breathes its last,
These beings debate the morality of violence.
Oh, what a world, where the devil is worshipped,
Where tainted hearts rally behind voices of vitriol!
This world does not seek redemption
Selfishness proclaimed the universal religion,
Insensitivity, a coward's haven,
Bigotry, the ceaseless chants,
Money, the fatal psychedelic,
Ignorance, a disease that vignettes their vision,
Truth, the slur that sends shudders throughout.
Calling the home of a helpless million your own,
The world cheers on, "Oh, Aren't they brave!"
What is brave about driving people off their homes,
Pushing them down a pit with tied hands?
Is it the ignorance of the cries of brethren?
Or their acceptance of the innate diabolical calls?
Everything good in this world is an illusion,
Morals stand on the land of the privileged
Depravity of the superior strata,
A pandemic that persecutes the voiceless
Faith, an evergreen excuse,
Faith, the weapon thirsty for elixir of life
Amidst constant cries of a crack that divides,
Humanity strives for the melody of morrow.
Is this a world worth saving,
Or have we already slipped too far?
YOU ARE READING
A budding writer's collection
PoetryJust a bunch of poems written as and when I feel to write them
