BY ANUSHKA DAS
"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,"
- W.B. Yeats, “The Second Coming”
I’ve read about them a lot, vices ‘and follies,
Through poems from different centuries.
My avowal to fin de siècle, as I,
In the twenty-first century of time,
Want to ask, what are follies?
More often as I read and try to inherit,
The qualities of moral merit,
They open the door to heartbreaks;
So walking into my twenties,
I ask again, what really are follies?
I’m guiltier of being nice than quiet, so,
I’m making dow to the art of saying “I don’t know!”
The grandeur tales of human qualities,
Would no longer fascinate me in my thirties;
“They won’t regard you anyway,”
Is the survival of the fittest’s say.
I must say as an ordinary reader,
And evolving as a circadian minor,
The meaning of qualities has taken a toll;
They’ve let follies take their soul.
The good gone souls may never be sane,
From the guilt of being a human for a human.
I claim to the late poets in heaven,
On behalf of the new men, sadly,
That qualities are follies and follies are qualities.
My fellas take pride in vices and bully;
What do they laugh upon? Purity.
I’m sober and quiet as I watch them,
Make the noise, make the fame,
“Be yourself” is just “be mean” to mean.
People won’t wait,
The civil drama laughs and books cry wet.
Do not judge me, for referring to anarchy,
For I write what I see.
But I pray, there’s an end to the follicle humming,
After “the second coming”.