Today’s NaPoWriMo attempt is on a prompt I came across on Instagram. I may not be writing a poem every day, but poem-ing in April is definitely giving me a high. Thank you for reading.
TO THE GOD OF SENILE MEN
The peace lilies died by their windows,
a couple more will do, please
but make sure you send them
before the bugle calls
before the campaigns route
before goodbye kisses
are planted—one for every night
before dust-caskets return home
before old men feed on medals,
egos dripping down their chins.
********************************
See you soon!
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A Hundred Quills 
You are so welcome, Sonia. I have read your book (loved it) and gifted a copy to my niece’s daughter.
I’ll be very honest with you. When I buy a fellow bloggers book, I usually don’t mention it. Most of us are not being published by big publishing houses who can afford to spend on marketing. We depend on word of mouth. Since I suck at writing reviews, I ask friends and family to buy the book. That’s my paltry effort to give back to the writing community.
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Oh my, Punam. That is so so kind of you. Thank you so much. I totally get it. This means a lot 🙂
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❤️❤️ I am waiting for your next book.
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🌸🌸
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A searing verse on the current scenario!
On a brighter side look what popped up in my google feed this morning!
https://share.google/dWwHLx1rigeWnRq3E
I proudly shared it with my family and friends telling them…”I know the author”! ❤️
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Thank you, Punam. That is so kind of you. I hope you enjoyed the excerpt.
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Brilliant… love it.
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Thank you, Rajani.
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Strong write, Sonia! I like how the poem is so tight that every word counts!
-Namratha
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Thank you, Namratha.
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This poem hit hard, especially in the current climate. The ones who want the wars are the only ones who survive in the end.
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Yes, they survive in every which way. Thank you, Manisha.
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Yes it is the old men who start wars so that the young can die for them
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Sigh! Yes.
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Not being allowed to like…
Old men, feeding on medals.
This poem reminded me of a TV programme, many years ago, when the last WWI soldiers were centenarians, in care homes.
Very reluctant conscript, taken to the war cemeteries, Harry Patch broadcast his own message..
No war.
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Heart breaking. I will try to search for this.
Sorry about not being able to press the like icon. Sometimes this stuff doesn’t make sense.
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I’m boycotting Instagram these days. Would love to see what the prompt sounded like without having to head there to look. I just need to feel my way in the heart of your poem.
Or I can take this poem as is. Thanks.
Your poems are always full of heart. Thanks so much. Happy writing.
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Hi Selma. Thank you so much. The prompt says, write a poem to a minor, unofficial god who is struggling to solve things.
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I see. I see. Love your words. Thanks.
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Thank you so much for stopping by.
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