A Bad Poem
This poem is unstructured,
This poem is sad
The rhyme may die anytime again
For this is not a ballad
Don’t sing this to your love- ever
Never read this more than once
Go push this down a canyon
Or your soul may die very young
This isn’t even a powerful poem
For powerful poems speak of lies
And truth
And crimes
And humans
And inhumanity
This poem, just speaks about me.
A pair of legs, hands, eyes, lungs, lips
Black hair, like the rest of my country.
Anatomy of grieving souls is quite the same.
This poem, talks about people drowning themselves
Because nothing in this poem is special
Nothing in this poem talks about pyramids
Or Van Gogh
Or Inca goddesses
This poem is about temptation
To throw yourself off your own terrace
To smoke coal in grandma’s stove
To look for bodies for one night of peace.
This poem is poor
It talks about sleepless nights
So common
And maybe, of simple ways to kill yourself
And maybe reading sad poetry and remembering what you really are.
This poem isn’t powerful
It never will be
This poem is a broken rosary.
This poem will fade away
Unlike a lot of you
This poem will fade away
A lot like me.
-Naman Karn