Poetrics

For The Rest Of Us

 

This poem is my personal outcry, born from my own observation of society, my own helplessness, and our tendency to leave the rest to others. More than a criticism, this is my reflection, my introspective call to rebellion against my own social apathy. 

Where is the rage you’ve shown
When the injustices of the past you’ve known
Emboldened you to speak
No longer meek
And made you wage a battle with fervor
Defending right with passionate honor
Only to walk past us each day
Are we but shadows on your way?
Mere discards from a society that forgot
What’s worth its story and what is not
That gives you satisfaction in your sleep
A good day it’s been, a dream to keep
But for the rest of us, ever the night grows deep
And fades into the darkness, our grip
On hope, that come tomorrow, we’ll wake
And hear us in the rants you make.

Where is the pain you’ve felt
When the outrage stirred your heart to melt
For those who suffered
And kindness, offered
But only in words, promises, none so different
From those whom your fury was meant
When you’ve rallied together to help reach out
Fed the poor and hungry, but not our mouth
That’s always been here— within your sight
Covered in the shade, as you stand in the light
With your face to the sky, our eyes fall to the ground
Without a single tear any longer to be found
Dried, by the wind that comes with ideals empty
Hands prepared to touch, but never ready
To embrace harsh realities that’s not their own
Minds so bright, but fickle hearts worse than stone
For the rest of us, you’re all the same
When you know our faces, but know not our name.

Where is this love you boast
When you stand in the crowd you loved the most
Who pat your back and cheer
And you held dear
Their shallow accolades as proof of your sincerity
Wonderful statements of exuding beauty
That mock us with your veiled contempt
Smiles that only last with your weak attempt
In gaining favour while you conceal
To hide the truth and from what is real
And share your troubles without sharing a meal
Our petty theft, for survival; a glance is all you steal
While you weep on your bed as we dream for one
Your head, on a pillow; ours, on none
Yet your complaint’s relentless, while our voice is gone
You bicker and argue, but who has truly won
When we don’t even care for what we’ve forgotten
For the rest of us, who was left out of heaven.

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