PoetrySad Poems

This Is Not A Poem (I)

To the beast causing pandemonium among humans:

If you collect our cries into a larger drum,
Will it be used to wash away our sickn’ses,
Longtime sickn’ses: racism, fanaticism and x’phobia
And replenish it with love among humans?

Will the trademark you’ve left
Safe us from depression
And refrain people from committing suicide?
Will your muddy baptism turn us a new born?

(Mr. Big-without-thought Corona!
You should answer
those posed questions!
For crying out loud!
We are humans:
whose blood run in our veins!)

You’ve turned the members of the society
To animals—living in cages,
Blacks—being enslaved and shackled
Tied us down like a Christmas goat

We can’t come into face-to-face contact with our neighbors
‘Cause we’ve turned half-lepers,
Walking unnoticeably without boils
and a woman in pudar,
Carrying the cross of Allah

You’ve turned a caring mother
To a demon
Without undergoing the training
Of a recruited soldier
An enmity against her child
While she sees her dying
Of an illness she’s ignorant of

If you then conquer this war,
What then shall be your scores:
The rotten carcass that can’t be touched
Or the rotten melon you’ve thrown on us?

May you fade into the thin air, stealthily
Seeing neither your shadow nor trademark!

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