Sunday, August 07, 2011



The timorous whispering voice
Crackles the eerie silence,
As the gun, nears the forehead.
This haggardly, seeps the rusty fear in.
The colors of the world
In lugubrious pattern of painful emotion
Kill the hope of many souls
That pray the light will soon dawn.
Big cities, small cities and villages
All are prone to this evil of the kings
The crown of humanity we dare to call us
With our hands we push the reality away.

In the street the pain lurks
As I see the grimacing faces under the blanket
Neglected physically and psychologically
Hopelessness roots the rotting.
Have we done enough?
Have we ever had enough of many things of life?
Have we ever been under the open sky in cold winter?
We cast one eye on them
The other we cast on brands of trend,
We place our hand in the pockets
Thus we walk the alleys of life
As if the pain of plain humanity
Speaks not her sorrow with tears and disabilities,
And we return home to romance with the creature comforts.

The timorous whispering voice
Crackles the eerie silence,
A signatory of life’s deprivation
At the height of wanton selfishness.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 070811.


  1. Oh... this is so very deep. Something to ponder. Thank you for sharing.

  2. I'll have to think about this one. You make very good points, much awareness

  3. This and the last poem read together has much to say of mankind, and God (for those who believe in God)

    You do create awareness Cyclops; but how many times we do talk about it,


  4. So deep in thoughts bro. Well put up!