Atonement

Atonement short poem

I have

Killed and pillaged

Plundered and pilloried

Raped and destroyed

Beauty and innocence

In its purest form

Nature…

Her plaintive cries

When she trembled

And quaked

And melted,

Her pleas

Have I ignored

And now

I must pay.

Through

Famines and droughts

Floods and heat waves

As she unleashes

Her anguish

In an emotional

Outburst

Across the globe

In a daily ritual…

And so must

I tread gently

And beseech her

To stop

this ritual Cleansing..

I fold my Hands

In prayerful Greetings

Only to be chastised

“Use them

To dig and sow

Plant and nurture..

The rest I will do “…:

She says

with a quiet dignity,

Regained.

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Jayshree Murali

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A volunteer mentor in a Beyond School Learning Program at the not for profits VIDYA ( www.vidya-india.org) I love working with children and youth. the inclusive and diverse platform that is VIDYA , has been the perfect foil for creative expressions to emerge as we seek to collaborate a holistic learning intervention by providing a joyful learning environment. Who am I ? existential question... exploring through journeys of life.. a seeker's quest finds expression in many forms and poetry is the language of the " Now " that is influenced by the dreams dreamt and the dreams that lie ahead.. a celebration of what is here !
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4 Comments on "Atonement"

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Editorial Board
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@Jayshree it is a pleasure to find a piece of poetry that speaks of giving back rather than of what was taken away. The thoughtfulness of the poet reflects in the words and the content is inspiring..do keep writing and submitting poems for our enrichment .

Reyvrex Questor Reyes
Member

This poem is a wake up cry for the world to do something more
to the causes of the worldwide disasters now besetting humanity from all angles. Earthquakes from below, Cyclones from all flanks, or Meteorites and solar radiation from above, among the most obvious harbingers of fatalities. Nature strikes back at the abuses brought upon it.

wpDiscuz

Atonement Of Art

Atonement Of Art long poem

will you look at what I made soft wood and sharp blade without plan or hint of a plan except those impermanent currents and etchings in my mind a fragrant wood and beautiful grain oil and even the noise the