The arena is built lie by lie, sobs by sobs.
Names don't matter.
A game is still a game,
called by any other name.
Children with ribs like shattered shields
do not volunteer; they are raised for slaughter.
They don't fight hungry lions, only eyes,
trained to devour without guilt.
The crowd appears with open mouths—
not for speech, but for swallowing.
They neither cheer nor detest.
They consume and participate.
They are fluent in silence.
The emperor, a maestro of manipulation,
raises the goblet of power,
sloshing blood and tears.
His face changes with pointed fingers.
He gives a thumbs up to the metrics of misery.
The rules are simple:
Follow or fall.
Bend your spine or lose your limbs.
Stones not allowed.
Truth not permitted.
Every time period has a flavour.
Rome preferred marble and martyrdom.
Medieval kings chose fire and famine.
Modern states favor embargoes and false narratives.
The game has been staged in coliseums, in camps,
in barbed wire theaters of ash, and on screens.
The stage was always a meat grinder
dressed as monument— polishing bones and calling it legacy.
History didn’t archive the game—
it franchised and licensed it.
This century renamed the bloodsport: Genocide.
Happy playing to all— the arena is open twenty-four seven
The scoreboard counts bodies. And the audience never leaves.
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Author:
Aman 12 (
Offline) - Published: July 17th, 2025 01:34
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem exposes how societies—past and present—turn suffering into entertainment, policy, and legacy. From Roman coliseums to modern screens, the arena persists. The victims change, but the rules remain.
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Priya Tomar
Offline)
Comments3
I refuse to play… good poem
A poignant write of history of the darker side of man, and sadly there are many who do enjoy all the killing and devastation, a game I would never take part it, nicely expressed and written write
unfortunately all are playing..no one asked us..if we want to play or not.
Well written.
You wrote on dark days of history.
wish it was ..just history.But it is our present too.
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