There is turmoil beneath the skin
of the society
There are thorns kissing flowers at the
crust of a volcano
It is no more pretty, the thorns, they
have lost their charm
No wonder you should not kiss flowers
At least not with passion
Passion creates a thin line of blood
that shows you the way to not one
but many wombs..
Wombs from which the puppets of the society
are born.
Oh! Sorry not puppets, they are real people
they wear black suits and red ties
drive cars with rolled up dark windows
and from there they look out at the world
and make decisions…
decisions……
not about them but about those outside
who cannot see inside the car
through the rolled up dark windows
Yes! There is turmoil…
There is turmoil beneath the skin
of the society
and thorns will no more
kiss flowers

Categories: Poetry

Tags: Poetry