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Poem

My dearest troubled humans,

This is the bitter voice of Appreciation of old that

You are hearing

The one that, once upon a time, people much revered

But

The younger generations seem not even to know

My name.

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I remember

When all of you, on your lips my name had

When:

Children constantly appreciated what

Their parents for them were doing
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Students were thankful for what their

Teachers were teaching
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Citizens grateful were for what their

State for them was providing

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People thanksgivings were offering to

God and nature alike for taking care of

Their needs

And that

Statues were erected everywhere in my honor.
-

Now, my name,

As though forbidden to be pronounced,

Obliterated from your memory appears to be

Thus

Each one of you only to himself gives credit

Forgetting that

Without the contributions of those that came before you,

Yourselves wild animals would be,

Lacking language, sciences, and numbers,

Just ignorant brutes striving in the wilderness to

Survive
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Beware,

My beloved humans,

For

If the road of ingratitude you keep following for long,

Sooner or later,

Back into the wilderness, your egotistic selves,

Inescapably you will find!
 
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©  Demetrios Trifiatis
      30 July 2016

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