The vile ones, love it
Enjoy to stir it up
Watch from across the table
To sip it burns your lips
They don't make it sweet
It has no milk or cream
Tasteless and weak.
Pour the water of peace
Boil it, kettle red
Till it is dry and dead
Teabags of hatred, lies, fear and dread
Stir it in a pot till it stinks, scolds
Is heavy as lead.
Pour from the hatred pot
Little streams of brown
Rotting your aspirations in china cups of minds
If it's not enough to fill
They boil it and refill again.
Offering mostly to the teens
Who laze in cafes, parks or by streams
Thinking of what is to become of their broken dreams.
A wonderful metamorphic poem .A fine thread of thought well defined. Thanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Stir it in a pot till it stinks, scolds .........'scolds' or 'scalds'? remind me to never visit U.K. if that is where you are speaking of. we here in the U.S. have NO HATRED, of course! ! unfortunately, i guess hatred and the like comes more naturally or easily to some than harmony comes. i'm thinking that your work with children does give a bit of a boost to produce more harmony in the world. thanks. bri ;)