Watching “When They See Us” based on the Central Park Jogger Case induced such poignancy in the poem.
This is not an exact reflection of emotions, but somewhat on the lines of such opaque cases- of how five boys are brutalised and condemned publicly, betrayed, wished ill for and loathed by over a million people, at the age of only 15, for no fault of their own, except the inferiority of their society and the color of their skin; exposing yet another Achilles’ Heel of human civilization.
The air about this incident was rather pungent, if the fact that this lingered on for a score and a quarter wouldn’t suffice.
These are my own musings on the subject, as a 14 year old.
My heart is in a dungeon- with walls scratched beneath.
The daunting aroma of filth that doesn’t let me sleep.
For every tear drop that lives a little longer-
Alas! by then my delusion and hope are already conquered.
A herculean way it has; a pretty, fake smile.
This heart that weakens every single day;
every single day it composes an exquisite rhyme.
Oh! no, not jolly, not one bit gay.
But of how one by one each part is being slayed.
In night she finds peace,
because dark nights hide tears of what we ceased to be,
while the world makes our heart of stone seize it by the arm.
The rise of dawn tears our fears,
and emotions- they all fall.
With blood she painted her heart on walls-
scarred with nails, nails of men,
who just like her, wished to someday stop being slayed.
But, no, it’s just not meant to be.
For the eternal battle we lost.
Part by part, bit by bit doomed are we to fall.
Not so, but rise again;
the Phoenix’s triumph says it all.
Maybe someday the rose with thorns will glow.
Till then I say au revoir to the chinks in my armour that grow.
Deepen with time, to let daggers pass by; and hit the heart;
then again she cries,
cries herself to sleep, with the many nightly regrets at last.
In search she stands there still- waiting for her silhouette’s fancy to last.
Chivalry that fades away…
Oh, what a blast! Hope tarnished at last!!
Maybe someday the red a rose adorns, the one that runs in my veins, will succumb to your gast.
My heart is in a dungeon with walls scratched beneath.
The daunting human epiphanies that killed all my fancies.
…Etched it was, “Life- terrifically done.”
© achillesheelpoetry, 2020