We read wars. Not Poetry. Anymore.

We read wars

Written by Tanya Singh 

 

We do not read poetry anymore,

We read wars,

 

The ugliest of the prevalent thoughts there is,

It is to shade those thoughts as your own that underlie apathy,

I haven’t known much of it,

Except that it breeds more in the stagnant mere,

 

Reading the newspaper, the last thing I reminiscence,

Not a happy story I recall, neither with much fancy I do,

The decimation of once a pacific land some decades ago,

The annihilation of its innocent inhabitants,

 

Maybe I didn’t believe so,

Now, but I know, death is evitable,

Many are wrong, who said so otherwise,

 

And so does the red berried tree spring flowers again,

It seems to me to almost unnecessary to talk of things,

I have the least control over,

But this silence isn’t helping either,

And I have seen the more helpless bird chirp,

To recite into the murky dusk that sticks to your soul,

 

But we do not read poetry anymore,

We read wars,

 

I know these illusionary fables in my textbooks,

I wonder why they won’t talk of things that makes us who we are,

Like how a seed grew an apple, which ripened only to fall or be plucked,

 

And not all mangoes are golden yellow, died in the sunlight,

Nor all leaves green, gratified by the nature,

And neither it’s their fault that sometimes they are,

 

And just when I’d begin my mornings,

Holding the disagreeable cup of coffee in my hand that,

Leaves a bitter taste in the mouth that looks to plate itself,

with cherries from the garden of Eden,

It might have made me throw up,

The way once, I had almost given up on my ambitions,

To salvage myself back and spring again,

 

As,

I’d pick up the newspaper to read,

these wars turn to verses.

 

I know death doesn’t rhyme.

– Originally published at Voices of Youth (http://www.voicesofyouth.org/en/posts/we-read-wars-2)

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