For Maya Angelou: Like a Cherished Effigy

I hold it up again today; the world, Pregnant with magical dimples Of a child's reckless abandon, And look at the face, Then I look at the deep cut And the pain it inflicted I look back at the unpaid ransom, The whips, hands chained to the back Faces buried deep into the cold wall, The so-called wall of the world, soaked By the tears of our raped eyes. I have seen the world through and through; The sweet bitterness of living and dying, The joyful agony of getting and losing; The memories come clear like crystal And the weak world whirls by unconsciously Taking us down its untrodden alluvial depths And scattering silence nearby and abroad: Those are the world's worth! Who amongst us does not have a story? The world is killing us, thinking, perhaps That there is sudden rebirth in each death But those we lost are gone forever And we bite our lips and rub our eyes, Alas! Another phenomenon has been lost. Like a cherished effigy I hold it up again, the wild world The nuance feeling surges like thousand waves And I listen as different sharp sounds Of cries, nay, moans pierce my ears, The tears fall in torrents like a waterfall. The earth, our unconcerned world is killing us, Like little ants...it kills us with sledgehammer, Hypothetical villain lurking by street corners Waiting and waiting, almost impatiently. But we love the world, and so much so We cling to life, despite the odds We want to live, love and be loved, We want to experience and explore the depths. We have been heart broken again and again, And each time we heal We lick our wounds and clean our tears Trying to protect our battered ego. We hold it up again and again Like a cherished effigy, smiling Notwithstanding our heaps of unfulfilled dreams, Our not-to-clear future, our unheard cry-cracked voices, Despite the rigours of the trite rituals Of our religions, our creeds, our norms; Despite the guns, the bombs, the blades That cut us clean and shatter our unborn hopes, We still cuddle our earth like a cherished effigy Dressed to pattern by virgin children While it takes us down one after another Jubilantly like a well trained military marksman. Alas! Another phenomenon has been gone.