Scathefire

This poem is inspired by some recent newspaper articles and some real time experience. I have not worked towards making this poem look and sound beautiful but have worked on the axiology of the poem. Let me know if you like it. The poem itself is simple.

Scathefire

Who blows freedom to the light?

And the mystic twilight play with the night

Blow some to those disdained soul;

Let the moon-light take over their plight.

Why is it that few always stroll?

In the darkness of their soul;

Where few scornful mourners remain bold?

I knew the man who grew medicinal plants;

He perished…

He could not buy the pills;

He had to attend to more important bills.

I knew the hunger in the street;

I have walked those path bare feet,

And when vegetation turns to concrete;

Who should worry for the feed?

Who passed the bill of calamity?

We are animals in this city;

Caged in our modern hutments,

Avoiding sunshine and killing the rains.

You won’t know me today;

Tomorrow I am everywhere,

Home delivery to distant and near;

I sell oxygen in the kiosk, nearby;

Dial or mail me when you want to breathe high,

I sell blood and other parts;

Frozen sperm for that designer birth;

Organic is the delineation of yesterday’s food,

A rare species for the regular cook?!

I sell virginity and love pills,

The sellers of humanity are long killed;

Love is an undercover business,

Sorrows adimpleated freely and you hunt for happiness.

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