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