About the boy
I have been wanting to write about the boy
and I still can’t
I am not ready yet
For dissecting the body of horror
Bequeathed to him
By roofs of tyranny
That should have been his gentle homes
Instead he inherited
Hard hard stone
Hands
That break flowers
He is drowning now
And so is his world
All his lovers
All his neighbors
All his animals
All his earths
Sinking now to the bottom of our sea
Wondering how can one little boy go so wrong
Wondering how it all started
But it is always too late
It is always too late
Human breath is weak
When we find the lost boy, we will sort all our disasters. I will not explain the poem further but I will continue to write about that lost boy we have let getting destroyed, and hence the mayhem…
