Mitta Xinindlu

Freshman - 626 Points (South Africa)

This Generation - Poem by Mitta Xinindlu

The parents of this generation are unwearying
in complaining about this generation;
Aren't we meant to be readying
the very insane generation?

Yet it is the same maternal traits
that nurture this generation.
It is the same paternal straits
that misguide this generation.

Whose children are these
that we complain about?
Isn't discipline a theme of plausible ease
that we run with our sails afoul?

Aren't we ought to hand down discipline?
Possibly seek a wise chaplain
We cease not to fail in inferring our full rights.
Loth to mistake our own rites.

Where are the parents
who are supposed to be standing up?
Where are the parents
who are meant to be pilling up?
Where are the parents
who are meant to be writing;
writing down the rules?
Don't they find this generation frightening?
Aren't we living in the ruins?

This generation is packed in rehabs.
This generation is packed in jails.
This generation sleeps on the streets.
This generation needs to lay alit.

Surely, this generation has a parent or both.
Surely, someone gave birth to them.
Surely, someone fathered them.
Surely, someone must cease to loathe.

Where are the mothers
who used to be the source of discipline in the home?
Where are the fathers
who used to provide peace and hope?
What doth the Living require of thee?
Why are you so blind to see?

Why do these rights exclude discipline?
Don't they have rights to receive human splines;
And guidance from the parents?
Are we solemnly relying solely on patents?
Why are we deadly silent in action?
This generation is pleading for our attention.
They scream for our help.
They seek help down from the hemp.
This generation will die,
unless we cease with the lie.

Topic(s) of this poem: life

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, March 14, 2015

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