Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Reena Prasad writes

Can death cure cancer?

We need heroes, not victims
with broken necks
said the old man
tending to the cactus in his garden
To celebrate life, love and large-heartedness

A young boy who could have
walked in the sunshine,
sat near his mother 
patting her calloused palm
and brought smiles to wrinkles
hidden under grey hair
He could not find a hero to emulate
for they are a dwindling lot
instead he shot at imagined villains
just as your son would do
if he laid hands on a new video game
Another bleeding soul
set loose to wander
among the wasted ones

He sucked a drop of blood 
off a careless finger
Thorns prick if you love cacti a bit too much
as do religion, patriotism and other differences
which makes ours an arrayed world
Water them, watch them bloom, celebrate their flowers
But compare them to roses with thorns
and you manufacture unhappiness all around.

The fighting pawn on the board
bumped because he hung around to see
if he would be rewarded by the dummy king.
 Skildring Botanical Garden Berlin - Cacti House.jpg

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