The world wants a scapegoat with stretch marks.
Wants to pin every broken bone
on a bedtime whisper.
Traces every dagger to cradles
It wants the mother to answer
if the blade was breastfed?
Demands the father to confess
to planting knives in the crib.
Now every crime is a family tree.
Every bruise a genealogy.
The world has amputated memory.
It forgets that even a prophet
couldn’t teach his sons
how to lose without bleeding.
It forgets that even love
can rot in the womb
if the world salts it early.
That envy learns to walk by limping,
that unchecked want becomes wildfire.
So, the world names the scar a prophecy,
and still blames the womb for the war.
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Author:
Aman 12 (
Offline) - Published: August 19th, 2025 07:08
- Comment from author about the poem: I feel marriages are blind...love isn't
- Category: Love
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, C.W. Bleu
Offline)
Comments1
What a wonderful twist on the old saying that love is blind. Too true to catch the attention of new lovers and too late to relight the fire of those that have been scorched. A beautiful poem too full of truth to hang on the wall but instead hidden in the pages of dusty volumes of a library we all walk by but seldom enter. A fave
yes,this poem cant decorate walls.. Thank you for appreciation..We are all so used to love being blind...and marriage being an eye opener.
You are most welcome
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