The poet of hate

As the ducks
Die in the lakes,
As the smoke
Dims the sun,
As the one percent
Loot the rest,
As the vocabulary of love
Gets buried deep
In old dusty books-
Which self-respecting poet
Will dare repeat
The old lies
Of order and justice and love?
How will he not rage
Against the given truths,
How will he not burn
The old books?
The poet of our times
Knows his burden well-
He must,
If he is honest,
Write not with love, about love-
But with hatred, about hate.

About Abhishek

I will let the blog speak for itself...or, at times, for me. View all posts by Abhishek

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