An Idle Cup Poem by Aryaa Gupta

A world to be proud of
At least, that's what I am told,
A world built only for the best
The brave
The bold

A world to be proud of?
I don't think so
When half of us toil
to feed themselves
And half are stalked by crows

A world to be proud of?
The limit is the sky?
Pretty easy thing to say,
When you just idle by

Our world
To be proud of?
'Not our mess'
'Not our fault'
Yet our world.

Easy to dream,
Easy to die.
Easy to fall,
Yet so easy to fly.

So, hear me when I say,
Where is the humanity
In a world built for us?

A world to be proud of?
Or a world less gracious?

I see death.
I hear screams.
Taste that bitterness, smell that fear.
And yet, I feel hope.

For as I tell this tale
A million other tales are being told,

Tales of those that are brave
Tales of those that are bold
Tales of those who help
Tales of a world glittering
with shining gold.
Are
They
Just
Tales?
An idle cup, bereft of wine.

But when it's filled to the top,
Oh, how it shines.