The Blahcksheep

The Blahcksheep

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​​When the Dead Poets Society Asked

​​When the Dead Poets Society Asked
Illustration by Jean-Michel Basquiat

When the Dead poet’s society asked, what will your verse be,
I stumbled on thin air, with nothing to trod upon.
I fumbled for words that used to easily flow out
Of hands as the words reached out to me.
What did I contribute? What will I contribute? Will I ever contribute?
I might walk through the garden of rosebuds
Not knowing it was rosebuds that I ought to gather.
I might walk in trance with the footsteps of the ones before me,
Not knowing that I had to stop the wickedly cheering society.
I would forget to jump over the desks to find a new angle
Just when I unabashedly believed that I knew it all.
I might choose to not find the Indian cave across the stream
To form the Dead poet’s society because it might get me expelled.
But today, when I watched the trigger go off on a soul
That should’ve shone bright on the screens
Had not his father’s words weighed the soul unkindly;
I discovered a new found freedom.
A love to myself that I’ve forgotten to cherish.
I might end up being wrong.
But I am worth the wrong.
What good is a sea without its mud bed?


Losing before holding,
Running before staying,
It’s getting wild, a monster.
Will there be a dark cave
To hide or be naive,
Up until I find a foster.


Things are pretty tough.
Unlike you,
We are made to make memories of the prime time of our lives
Within the walls of our houses with zero ‘real life’ experiences,
Cladded with a cell phone algorithmised for addiction.
and thus, yes.
We are sad.Could be depressed too.
So every time you find us so,
Instead of finding professional help;
Which is very thoughtful,
Or its because being inside has worn out on you,
Take a round outside;
Which is totally understandable,
The best you could offer will be to understand and accept that,
Things are rough.
Would solve half our problems.
Right away.


Ameena

Ameena Sherin

Ameena is a young girl with big dreams. But for her, to dream itself is a herculean task. Just like the brook that flows into the river and onwards to the sea, she walks between the paths of right and wrong to find the exact point where they meet. She is hopeful she will find her place someday.

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