Prejudice poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of prejudice poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on prejudice are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
A scourge Of mankind. Hate A person Before we talk and walk That is no way Right. It is every way Wrong. want a special kind Of prejudice. wish to pre-judge Everyone beautiful Lovely gorgeous Redeemed Forgiven And love them
Enraged we stand in this broken country still living an old brown paper bag blues. While newsprint vividly tells the story but you might not find it on the midnight news. And I weep again, I weep for all… my
Freedom to be Loving and kind. Compassionate and empathise. To be strong yet gentle. To listen and understand To be fair and stand. Freedom from biases Age old medieval and rotten prejudices. Freedom to be different to be alive and
“I am pure blue-blood”, said he, “as pure as it can get.” of the tall, fair, handsome varieties. Twice over I despised him but managed but a smile, as he deviously managed to convey his derision for us darker-skinned commoners.
The way rapists minds have taken shape- A girl is to blame for her own rape, To these animals so lecherous What are we girls-strictly diurnal creatures? Rapists say,“Girls can’t step out at night, A girl attacked should quietly allow
Disaffection brings out, the black fever. Stars will chart the inky path. It was too close the brazen attack on sacred rites. Prejudice of contents was besides, heavy. I am going to flee from spaces. You become a fodder of
I believed I was free, Then I learned of norms, Of perceptions about me. Traditions held me back, Where my spirits soared, Turning my soul so black. Love came with shackles, An inheritance of beliefs, Trapped in social tentacles. They
I dwell in a hut, down, under the shade of that tree, You stay in a nest, up, on the branch of that same tree Thinking thoughtfully over thoughts – a while; See every reason to Believe and reveal…., Dear
Sore with discontent, Oblivion beckons, Fade out or live long- Perhaps not an option. Choices are illusions, Life a big lie, Return to innocence- Most desired. Loath and anguish, No logic to talk about, Haze of negativity- Call it depression.
Last few glimpse of a lying soul, Was seen behind ten heads Oh! Life, Is so uncertain Gains Maya when alive And attains Moksha ultimately Pride, prejudice, love and sacrifice What’s the point when it means nothing? Afterlife? Who can
Look into their eyes. Eager, wanting to know. Wanting to know what they got themselves into. Fresh faces, years before the first wrinkle. Blank slates hanging on our every word. Each time, a clean slate pregnant with potential. Each time,
This is a delicate porcelain, but, she was broken… Love Crime— The Humanity Prejudice（Encounter In Masquerade） Split emotion, rupture thoughts, Tragic is melted in prejudice, Disguisers of Beast in human form, as cruel as ice, Mercy is tearing, mask is
We are not mere sepals, petals, and pollen-grains As scientists view us under their microscopes, But a flower, with all faculties of beauty and life, A full bloomed blossom, the expectations and fulfillment, The long cherished dreams of a plant
I was scrolling through a few of the #MeToo posts on my timeline, when, I thought I’d bring a few questions clawing my mind, to the society’s attention – How could you throw the unassuming girl child to the ants,
This day you left this world that day I am experiencing hell without you ever since like a Torn kite flying aimless like thick dark clouds hovering creating darkness in noon like Waves over the sea rising to the skies
When you were learning how to kill, somebody was beheading my faith. There was lint in my eyes and the lathyrism of numbers. In raw emotions you took away everything from me I was left with an entire whole. Still
The kitchen staff left a slice of cake out. all the while, stacking chairs on tables, scraping the grill, through the ravenous inhale of the vacuum cleaner, it sits like an unscaled peak framed in the lights of the pass-through.
your nan, your grama your whatever you called ‘er a soft place to fall if mom & dad hollered chores for a quarter, sleep-overs for fun love aplenty, wisdom a ton strong cementing, dependable fixture penchant for silliness stirred into
The children were purpled at a very quick glance you could kid yourself they’d gotten into grape juice taken the blueberries out of the freezer had a fight with makeup of some kind they were just dead each lying on
Wrapping arms around myself, I sit down mutely, Numbed by a pain, Spreading through me. A gnawing pain radiates, With a sting of words, Hurled thoughtlessly, Locking me in a maze. Words that cut through, Causing a throbbing pain so
Being not poetical, how pitiful it is, Sometimes I sit somewhere and watch the Slew of mass flowing over dusty street And a strange thought dawns in my mind How poetical these rushing souls actually are? Perhaps I know these
Between the tremors falls the face in a glass of water. Sometimes false teeth reverberate through the pages of history; devastation sinks in. A faun rubs the landscape. Hatchlings come out when death-music stops. A miracle tends to quieten the
Being Alive is to feel the breath…that cannot be felt after the death… Being Alive is to feel yourself beyond the senses…that capture your spirit in all the instances… Being Alive is to feel the real you…feeling the consciousness, pruning
The dazzling star went through me. I was undemanding from dusk to dusk hurting myself, not anybody. Time to meet my twin, to set the black on orange. My guilt, my fear, my foreboding. Let go off, my sap in
What would happen on the day When death tinkers in your life This thought might recoil once It turns a ‘men’ into ‘corpse’ I soliloquy kith will pretending of regret by flowing false tears Several examine you by discussing your
I hear everyday a 10 bits song, every morning, I wake up with the musical alarm of clock- it sounds as “Ding Dong Dong.” “Tweet”, “Tweet”- birds come out from nest with early dawn’s knock! With clucking and crowing of
A colourful umbrella reminds you to tell her you’re leaving today on the train You can’t help the weather in puddles against leather as the rain flows quite gently along down the road to the drain I had sunshine so
The path disappears under the foot. Gently I lay down the book and start reading the blank page. Stainless thoughts.I strip to root. A stunning revelation about a tinned dialogue. Blue hydrangeas were telling something. It was time to become