Saturday, July 25, 2020



In a room as big as the sky,
Crumpled papers are thrown.
The papers were born to fly,
But they were caught and torn.

The papers inscribed with hurt
Were sprayed with scent of shame.
Then they were scrambled in dirt
With a sole intention to defame.

The room was desperate to be free
From the litter that was cancerous.
But even a simple wish to unsee
The words of pain was hopeless.

It was neither morality nor hope
For the fire to ignite against vice.
But courage stood firm with a rope
To lash out at anything but nice.

The fire leaving no ashes in rage
Lighted the room with wisdom.
The hostility going on a rampage
Was vanquished with activism.

I don't want to spoil the subjective meaning of the readers, and I very much appreciate the variety of perspectives that this poem brings in. But to me, this work tries to reflect my deepest thoughts and emotions. The room here is my mind, heart and body. The papers are my feelings or emotions.

July 15, 2020

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