Frozen headlights on a bruised street,
where echoes gather and meet.
Sirens dissolve in acid rain
where gods are called out in refrain.
A child on the curb can taste,
engines fat with fuel in haste.
Coins can’t count hunger,
when billboards thunder.
An abundance overhead
while tiny palms beg for bread.
We call them gnats,
they call us disease,
a plague of indifference
spread with ease.
A scene restaged each day
on pavements worn to clay.
My question twists the choking air
who staged this play and left it there?
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Author:
Aman 12 (
Offline) - Published: December 4th, 2025 03:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Such a poignant message clothed in fine rhyme. Aman your poems are a pleasure to read and this one no less so although it speaks of an unpleasant subject. You say it well with good meter and flow. Your allegory and metaphor are well fit and not common "gnats and disease" A fave
thank you so much for your beautiful words.This poem is very close to my heart, thank you
My pleasure your poems are a great delight to read
Intense, spot on, well written!
thank you for reading.
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