The First Conspiracy
No, it didn't start at a border.
It was one of those edges,
of a wrong forest
where two lonely nomads,
met at a brook
and self- consciously smiled
for the very first time.
Hungry and lost, they turned
to face the other,
in the moonlit night –
and gestures new.
With two pairs of rocks.
Every now and then,
one would try to explain
his thoughts on life,
while the other would
smash the rocks in reply.
To a misled interpretation.
“Damn it! ”
the Gods swore in dismay.
Their prized project
had just hit the bin.
Man was discovering fire.
And inventing language.
Religion would soon follow.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The First Conspiracy by Ayon Banerjee )
- Your Initiative, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- To Want With Wishes It More Lived, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Your Kept Best, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- ROUND AND ROUND, Peter LeBuhn
- God's Gift To You!, Denis Martindale
- Voices, stephen awuni
- Cost Less, stephen awuni
- My Past Governs Me, Ian Paisnel
- Mind's Heart, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Unrest Soul: Imperfection, Onyekachukwu Vincent Onyeche
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- 1914 V: The Soldier, Rupert Brooke
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)