I sit with a pen in my hand,
To write a poem
A poem about the world,
A poem about an ugly world.
I wonder what happened to humanity,
Who made it suffer so much?
Was the sufferance because of humans ,
Or was it because of a materialistic world?
I remember the stories of the past,
The bloodshed and the wars.
I think about the mother, who never said goodbye,
And the sister and brother who lost a precious bond.
I think about the father, the daughter and the son
And many and most people in the world.
What happened to the humanity?
When did the light turn into ugly fire..?
The question arises again,
Who did this..?
The humans seem the only ones present to be blamed,
For a world going into vicious fire flames.
All of a sudden,
I see the transition of humanity into something else,
And realize that the one to blame is having a pen in his hand.
In that moment,
I realize that I am the one to blame.
