Image: limowreck666 Under cc
I see them, these angry young eyes.
I see them in the traffic lights, unfazed by the blare of a dozen horns, revolt seething in them.
I see them in the serpentine public queues, fuming at their choices and their circumstances.
I see them at interviews, concealed carefully under a garb of pleasantries and acceptability.
When that fails, I see them come out from hiding.
I see them at the markets, when a chance jostle irks the choicest expletives that rarely, if ever, brakes at their tongue-tips.
I see them eyeing their leaders – their managers, their teachers, their elected representatives in scathing visual attacks that are meant to strip the shameful. Oh, the irony!
This is the anger of the youth, simmering for ages till it has reached this point – their boiling point. Flaming tongues, curdling blood and fiery hands – all itching and aching in once voice. One voice asking for anyone to point them to the culprits – those makers of doom, those destroyers of destinies, those abattoirs of souls.
And among these desolate sinners, some rise in momentary elevation by standing on the shoulders of meeker men. These sinners call claim to others’ accomplishments as their own, and claim that the light emanating from the collective goodness of mankind was, in fact, harnessed by them. And they scream and shout for attention as they point their filthy fingers in furious wiggles of categoric aspersions.
And our angry eyes. Our angry eyes now narrow in ferocious focus and dispersed unanimity towards the pointed, and we are turned on each other by these sinners. Like the Gods of the netherworlds, the strengths of the sinners grow on the fear and anger of the youth. Our misguided souls are burned, and others take our place. And thus, the death of reason and humanity continues for ages.. Until..
Until one day, when eyes begin to haze, when anger begins to mellow, when youth begins to fade and wisdom begins to dawn. By then, we’ve been too late, too late.
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Poetry and Prose 