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In the news these days, I don't see words anymore,
I see men, women and children floating in the
stream of words of voluble leaders who turn the
twist of young fates. I see the anger in people's minds
through the words that roll off their tongues. The colour of
anger is not in colours, it is a washed-out sort of bitterly strung words.
On the streets, I see the pretences of the children
trying desperately to be men, 'cause of the language they've
been forced to know. These kids that swing into
manhood when words stir them to a fury that blows like hailstones
and turns the meek ones to thunderous villains, traitors to humanity,
but loyalist to despots, whose word is sworn in vengeance.
In the homes, I see blood drooling from the mothers when they
swear at their children. Fathers curse their children and turn
curses into middle names for their sons and daughters. Fathers kill the
spirit of youthful exuberance and question love without asking why.
They forget love in the bitterness that rolls off their tongues, they
spell anger in the things they say. They kill aspirations without funding it.
In the world, I see blankness, a void created in the midst of plenty;
the inciting speeches of an angered leader, the created urgency in the
rebels quote, the death of peace in the trade of words. All I see
is the dearth of language in the broken communication from the
choice of words; when peace becomes ancient greek and interpreters
are needed for the world to know peace, for tensions created to simmer.
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