Poets are no Heroes

Mathew Thomas

Heroes are men with a lineage written in gold,

Or with suitcases full of gold,

Ordinary mortals with shekels of silver,

Cannot be heroes of men,

For they lack the muscle of strongmen,

Strongmen are not measured with,

Sizes of their biceps or how broad the chest is,

But, by power with which they use the machinery,

To gouge the villages and lay bare the estuary,

The forests and its memories,

And destroy the minds,

Of peaceful men.

Mother earth has become a pawn ,

As machinery digs into the bowels,

The green woods turn red,

As if seasons turn to autumn,

To birth the winter onset,

The plaintive cries of the earth,

Turn into elegies for the dead,

That echoes in the skies,

And voices in the forests are,

Poems cut,

And chained in prisons,

Afraid it might find wings,

And fly.

Poets will still write poems,

Of forest songs that have lost its sweetness,

Or laced with gun powder,

To ignite people’s minds,

Or poems of peace,

That break chains and amble free,

For poems can’t be imprisoned,

So, fear the poet’s pen,

For it can bring down the mightiest men,

Poets are no heroes,

But ordinary men,

For they don’t have a lineage written in gold,

Or suitcases full of gold.

( in memory of late Rev. Fr. Stan Swamy)