poison in my glass

Recently, the word “Flint” has been grabbing my eye. One picture I came across was this grand, white water tower with the word FLINT spelled in black bold letters across it. It is a city in Michigan whose primary water source was switched over to the Flint River, which is more of a toxic dump than river. People persistently complained about the water, its uncanny color, its awful taste, but to no avail… no one believed. And it would be many months down the road when officials will finally listen because experts have found lead in Flint’s water, which courses through the veins of children. And this made me furious and sad at the same time so I chose to reflect on this tragic incident through various poems written in poeticalsounds.com

poetical sounds

investigate into these waters…
it is blue, red and clear on good
days; but good days run low like
toilet paper on the market shelves
and all i’m asking is you take a look
because the water seems not from any
spring or lake i know whose color
sometimes mime faint Tang or Jaritos.
no, this liquid mimics sangria i don’t
want to imbibe for the first time.
the tint arouses suspicion and still
insist it is all fresh from tap.
when yesterday’s pipes have been
gurgling blood and each sanguine drop
fills my mouth… the pain is worth a
scream, but you refuse to hear and i’ve
gone for days without a drink; by now,
thirst taunts me, but what can i do
when there is no alternative but
the orange poison in my glass

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the lighthouse

words of strength surely merits another place where it can be read…

poetical sounds

where the lighthouse beams tirelessly
all night and the water undulates,
seamlessly, as though a storm hasn’t
passed through and knocked off the
ships from the yards; there shall you
find me afloat against the grain of
the ocean wandering as i may the will
and taunt of gods in that great abyss
where the years may drown me, submerge
me under the weight of its reign as
gravity shall persist and push me
down, surrender… until finally i
am one with the beam and this breath
is no longer, in my lungs, necessary

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