Cursed Land

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
My country has been witnessing protests against our corrupt government for the last ten days. In light of those recent events, I found it appalling how western media twists the reality of what's happening and clipbaits its audience to believe a false image instead. Most articles and videos I've come across focus on the damage caused by a fraction of the population and not on the positivity, unity, and perseverance of the majority. However, this is usually the case with foreign coverage of events in the middle east. We always try to be optimistic and to defy racism with a positive image of our country and our people. I don't want to do that in this poem. You ignore us when we answer with positivity and love. Maybe this won't be ignored.
This isn't a poem. This is as much frustration, anger, and pain I could convey in words. I wrote this thinking of all of the woes my people have suffered.

Submitted: October 26, 2019

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Submitted: October 26, 2019

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This isn't poetry;

These words are demons

Buried in shallow earth -

I make them rise for the world to see.

 

I was born in a cursed land

Where God never set foot again.

Burned, wrecked, drowned in tears,

And surrounded by asps and vultures.

 

This isn't poetry;

These words are the wails of the dead

And the silence of the decayed.

Our pain is admonished,

Never acknowledged,

While the vultures watch and wait for blood.

 

If I were a forest,

I'd burn a thousand times

Until the world saw my ashes

And wept.

 

This isn't poetry,

But if it were,

I wouldn't expect your sympathy.

We're the circus where animals die

After each show,

But the audience never leaves.

 

Christy

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2020 Christy Writes. All rights reserved.

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