too many things happening around us
published: (updated: )
by Harshvardhan J. Pandit
poem rant

This world, spinning on and on,
Turbulent, violent, from dusk to dawn;
The bubbling chaos of speech,
Yet no one to hear me talk;
Everyone wants to preach,
But no one takes a walk;

The slim silhouette in the glass,
The fluttering of a butterfly;
Promises of an imaginary class,
Captured in the blink of an eye;
Where my thoughts are not my own,
Where every pauper aspires the throne;

A feeling of silent strangling sweeps over,
Nothing to see, no more grass, no clover;
Buried in a white sea of light,
Necks that are turned too tight;
To see the degradations of the soul,
Into slaves are turned bodies whole;

Tell me,
Who am I? What do I do?
And why if you tell me I’m happy,
Do I not feel so too?

Warmth enshrined in a thorn,
Prick my hand, and then I mourn;
This culture of imaginary money,
Stale bread and stolen honey;

Wars fought in the name of peace,
Bombs explode, rationalities cease;
The mind is numb from the shock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock;

Captured in a world within a world,
Like a nightmare within a dream;
Where every action is judged by a social lever,
Amongst all this noise, has love been lost forever?