Pigeons are the first to comprehend; perched
across the street,
they like me are surveying the abalone-grey clouds
I can almost make out the anguish and cries,
the human inclination
to waver between mists of time and state of things.
Must we continue to let the system cheat us?
On the rooftop, unbroken by city, wheel and unripe
hope I muster the courage to write on;
though pile of darksome
ruins of heart convince me otherwise,
here where the plot changes according to megrim
of the influential— why?
And that too at the cost of corpses in coffins!
Autumn observes closely from the shadows,
as blossoms lament neat rounds made;
how long until patience exhausts herself and lies
govern the world?
Perhaps it’s callow of me to feel this way;
I cannot help
but sleep in the lap of chaos and din,
this dark and somber burn,
this unfeeling landscape that continues to grow,
to grow, and grow and grow—
what of solid waste,
what of absence of proper management on part
of the government,
what of design and technical miscalculations
that pave way for atrocity
to occur again and again, haven’t we had enough already?
Forgive me, if I trespass into thinking melt-water
like drought is a curse,
forgive me if I dare to speak aloud what everyone
at the moment is contemplating,
the view from the rooftop is pleasant,
the breeze ruffling the ends of raven-black locks,
the sprawling green,
the hustle and bustle of traffic electrifies,
but how can one ignore bedlam
when it’s staring them right in the face?
It’s time we heed to the voices that can be heard
in-between the lines.
Posted for Open Link LIVE: September Edition @dVerse Poets Pub