Sympathy

We christen things
We call them
By their names
Names are famous
And infamous
The wind blows
In different directions
What should I call
My sympathy?
A relation,
A compensation,
A smart help,
Or a prayer to God
For my anguish,
Scattered on the floor?
It is a pillow
For their heavy heads,
A salty soup
Or a cup of confection,
Doesn't interest them.
Envy is ripe,
Very palpable
To their tongues.
They will accuse me
And handcuff
My wings
They will take it
As a nodule on the nose
I dread despicable things
I fear life too
Bereft of commiseration

by Mohd Arshad

Comments (1)

I dread despicable things I fear life too Bereft of commiseration. a very good poem.. lot of thinking has gone into this poem. thank you dear poet. tony