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MY CLAN
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Crowned Poem, English Poetry |
MY CLAN
My clan, the poor, for whom I write; can’t read
The grand elite that reads, berates my words
Well! Not prepared to cede their greed and lead
I grieve; I grieve at this unkindest world
I dip my hand in my peoples’ warm blood
And hard impress my palm on those cold hearts
They turn colder; their eyes eject bad blood;
With deep disgust my all efforts they thwart
I write again the same hackneyed essay
With grit unsealed, and with unfading sheen
I know I gain nothing in this dour way
Neither laurels, nor rich dollars to preen
No modesty indeed, I do this feat
It’s but my well opted passage to vent
Proxy tears of those I represent
To whom I owe my thought and poetic feast
Garlands and glory are mutable; die soon!
Die hard efforts do live for times umpteen
As etched murals in my social bystreets
Today alive or years after as a fossil stone
I see them greet me like Christmas joy sleet
Superb I feel the sentiment.
Beautiful poem,
Very meaningful on all forms of passionate efforts to empathy with & to be the spokesmen of the poor and have nots. Very commendable feeling and attitude.
Liked the poem immensely
A beautiful passionate poem
for the deprived class.
Anuradha,
a poem to be read and re-read.
“Proxy tears of those I represent
To whom I owe my thought and poetic feast” good as indeed the whole piece.
However, I feel the last line is out of place style-wise and theme-wise.
Fergus