Sunday, 20 August 2017

When I pick flowers


I always feel sad 
When I pick flowers
Especially orange ones
My favorite colour

 I always feel sad 
When I see people
With hoods marching
To right and the left

 Their torches alight
Erasing history
Statues come down
To mask all the facts

 Will we teach lies?
Will history be wrong
Evil deeds live on
Stability gone

 I always feel sad
When I pick flowers
Especially orange ones
My favorite colour

 Image found at www.newyorker.com/news
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5 comments:

  1. Anonymous20 August 2017 at 04:13

    such a lovely poignant poem, Oldegg, I love it! :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP)20 August 2017 at 06:33

    the times have energized sadness and hope ... your poem puts it all beautifully

    ReplyDelete
  3. Colonialist20 August 2017 at 06:50

    Beautifully placed contrasts, picking up on the theme the words invited.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Keith's Ramblings21 August 2017 at 02:03

    A tale of or times. Sad indeed.

    Click to read my story

    ReplyDelete
  5. Maude Lynn21 August 2017 at 09:56

    I love the way you've used repetition here.

    ReplyDelete

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