social commentary
There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
To Anna
In quiet corners of the day, Where light and shadow softly play, Your name drifts in, like whispered rain— A tender thought I can't contain. You are the pause the world forgets, A calm where all my noise resets. The hush between two heartbeats met, A song the soul won’t soon forget. Anna—like autumn in full bloom, With amber skies and silver moon. You carry storms and stillness too, A thousand skies inside of you. The way you speak, the way you stay, Even silence bends your way. You are a chapter never done, A verse that always just begun. If time should steal my breath one day, And all the stars are swept away, Know this: in every dusk and dawn, My love for you goes quietly on.
By Rakibul Islam2 years ago in Poets
On the Flip Side of the Mirror
A surge of sense.s Silences seconds— Close your eyes And the air thickens With a cocktail of scents That trigger every last nerve ending Like an old symphony Your body almost remembers. Life, at the end of a racetrack Where first place feels like a punishment— Awareness loses To convenience That stretches itself one morning And finds every damn piece of furniture Moved. Protests? Pointless. Fingers now bend in rebellious directions. Thyroid keeps demanding pills Three times a day, Stomach files complaints Unless the menu is monk-approved. Cuss words— Once sharp like knives— Now sound like cheap echoes. Rules? They fight back With scribbled receipts, Faded travel plans, And three damn cars Nobody makes or fixes anymore. Hey— Remind the room These creaky knees still pack enough torque To knock some sense in. Let them Play smart. I’ll return their sweet suggestions With whichever finger Gets the best lift. Forward is forward— No matter the pace. Make Them Wait. Let them learn What this relentless chase For programmed praise Does to bone, breath, and being. Give them a test at the end—three hours, no cheat sheet. Laugh hard— Behind the book You now can’t read Without your bifocals. Once, I might have whispered— “Hold fire. Wait it out.” But now? The world spills Over with nonsense. The hourglass is bare. No witnesses needed. Only a season of reckoning
By Rakibul Islam2 years ago in Poets
