THE FAULT IN OUR STARS
The tower of life; higher than our reach,
And the battle for survival is fierce,
That many lost, smouldered in the air,
Even before the inception of the duel for life.
Ignorantly, they had got along,
To birth generations of offspring,
But unconcerned of the peril that comes
As the foetus trudges to life.
Now my world, no, our worlds are our antagonists
Without ammunitions, they fight us,
Depriving us of a little prosperous life,
That may be gone even before we arrive.
Our archenemy, they make,
The "illness" we brought not unto ourselves,
Cum their advocacy of a world free of us,
We live as a ghost that only make up a population.
What are imminent to them and us - love, family
Are what they get with buoyancy,
But lecture us on the peril of tasting it,
To be something as grave as our "death."
Unless you raise placards above the chimney tops,
And your voices echo miles beyond the seas,
And your marches of awareness beat drums of survival,
A world free of us will be a reality that concentrates on illusory,
When the night is calm and restful
I'll sit it down and chat with it
And tell it how our world has treated us
And whisper to it ears, the fault in our stars.
Epilogue
This is a poem that focuses on the stigmatization faced by the patients of Sickle cell anaemia. They are rare people unlike everyone, battling to get a win from a war they didn’t start. They need a voice to prevent others’ pitfalls and raise them as well, above the shore of the mirage of life.
Pen Name: The Broken Mirror
And the battle for survival is fierce,
That many lost, smouldered in the air,
Even before the inception of the duel for life.
Ignorantly, they had got along,
To birth generations of offspring,
But unconcerned of the peril that comes
As the foetus trudges to life.
Now my world, no, our worlds are our antagonists
Without ammunitions, they fight us,
Depriving us of a little prosperous life,
That may be gone even before we arrive.
Our archenemy, they make,
The "illness" we brought not unto ourselves,
Cum their advocacy of a world free of us,
We live as a ghost that only make up a population.
What are imminent to them and us - love, family
Are what they get with buoyancy,
But lecture us on the peril of tasting it,
To be something as grave as our "death."
Unless you raise placards above the chimney tops,
And your voices echo miles beyond the seas,
And your marches of awareness beat drums of survival,
A world free of us will be a reality that concentrates on illusory,
When the night is calm and restful
I'll sit it down and chat with it
And tell it how our world has treated us
And whisper to it ears, the fault in our stars.
Epilogue
This is a poem that focuses on the stigmatization faced by the patients of Sickle cell anaemia. They are rare people unlike everyone, battling to get a win from a war they didn’t start. They need a voice to prevent others’ pitfalls and raise them as well, above the shore of the mirage of life.
Pen Name: The Broken Mirror
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