This is a short poem about the thoughts of an immigrant from India.
I will not date this letter,
for what I want to say is timeless
And although you see me write
the real writer is time itself -
the writer who has
written our destinies, and
was in control, even
when your forefathers thought
theirs' was the finger
On the trigger. I don't know
how the reigns of a continent
were lost, and who to blame
for the shameless exploitation
in the name of civilization,
but I do not blame you.
Had those treacherous people
known of the consequences
they may have shuddered away
from their follies. And blame
is not mine for being
scattered on these isles.
The tragedy is not that
I am here, but that it was
inevitable, as sure as day
follows night.
Poetry by a s gill
Read 271 times
Written on 2007-02-25 at 22:49
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A Letter
I will not date this letter,
for what I want to say is timeless
And although you see me write
the real writer is time itself -
the writer who has
written our destinies, and
was in control, even
when your forefathers thought
theirs' was the finger
On the trigger. I don't know
how the reigns of a continent
were lost, and who to blame
for the shameless exploitation
in the name of civilization,
but I do not blame you.
Had those treacherous people
known of the consequences
they may have shuddered away
from their follies. And blame
is not mine for being
scattered on these isles.
The tragedy is not that
I am here, but that it was
inevitable, as sure as day
follows night.
Poetry by a s gill
Read 271 times
Written on 2007-02-25 at 22:49
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
