Magazine, a poem by Abhinav Aradhi

 

Magazine

A gun wreathed in misery,

For it has seen terrible crimes,

And it wants its autonomy,

But its iron body is controlled by a steely grip.

 

A bullet, streaked with tears,

As it hurtles to its awful death.

Its family within the barrel

Will pray it perishes for a noble cause.

 

A trigger, caked in grime,

From a sleazy man’s finger,

Tries to push forth,

But the man has no discipline.

 

If we can empathize with a gun,

And if can make peace with bullets,

And if we can placate the trigger,

Then what’s stopping us?

 

Let the whole world burn in empathy,

Then come back and pray for peace.

It won’t come to you,

But fret not, dearest.

 

With our mouthy weapons,

And our esophageal arsenal,

And our protests and crise,

We shall win the war.

 

To be human is to indulge in war.

It’s a real delicacy, no?