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I met a woman on the bus

She told me about her favorite politician

He was different than mine


I told her my thoughts about mine

His character, his words, his loves, his actions    


Our conversation went on for a while

She applied each thing to her own choice


We parted as friends

With much to think about  


Carol Suchecki
There is no Power like a Pen
To drown the walls of Kings
Nor any suasion like a Verse
Coercive rule an inferior thing

Endeavor such consumes the scribes
And summons want and will to resist
Coercive tyranny, that dull machine
Toppled by Bards' superior fist
Soaked in rain
and their muted vowels,
I watch the starlings
in their somber silence.

A cautious wind
shoulders dry elm leaves,
as clunking boots
crack through open air.

Dark, iridescent
wings bent upward flitter
while a father whispers
a silent prayer.

Soldiers carve
through narrow streets,
power lines hiss
with growing malice.
Children of my century
Are forced to turn the tides,
When every single wave,
Comes crashing down
With the single force of a tsunami.
Forced to carry the weight
That our forefathers could not.
We were told to burn a corpse
And bury any feeling.
Haven't you heard?
Any emotion —
And we're hysterical.
We were raised
In the aftermath of a war
That never happened.
We speak out at injustice,
And scream at your false righteousness,
Only to be shut down
With your incessive ignorance.
Our sole right,
Was to be silenced.
So, if there's a reason,
I'm not suicidal,
Just a person with too many words,
And all the symptoms,
Of everything I am not.
It's because I am wanted.
I, am wanted alive,
We, are wanted alive.
We are here to fix what was broken,
And destroy what shouldn't have been made.
We are here to live and thrive.
Not, to be choked,
By those,
Who think massacre
Is the way to save lives.
- C.c
leolewin Aug 4
My word doesn’t matter.
The problem is, I’m nobody.
I just watch this **** from the sidelines.
I don’t matter so neither do my words.
I sit back on a beach chair with my feet in the sand.
A lit cigarette,
and jerrycan full of gas.
Sunglasses on, watching it all go down.
gotta love 2025….
He stands where the money is.
He can afford it.
To walk over the rubble.
And turn towards his purpose.
Rejoicing in his mortal luck
Using the Earth as his service
But it has seen its dues
It must be paid with disturbance.

Plant countless coins.
Watch the greed resurface.
The inhabitants can protest,
Their idiosyncrasies of depletion
Inching towards the furnace
Trade your stocks, trade your conscience
Taste the red copper of the red lines
The fine hues of the coal mines
Go home to where home is
Forget the Earth's purpose

Choose who you want to worship
They'll tell you to cash it
Let them know your check is ready
Leave the rest to the masses.
Marya Jul 28
You know the type. Smiling wide, promising change with one hand while the other is deep in your pocket. They come with Bibles in one hand and tenders in the other — preaching morality while signing off on corruption.

They show up in floods wearing gumboots for photo ops, but disappear when the real work begins. They remember your name during campaigns, then forget your existence after the votes are counted.

These aren't leaders. These are politricians — masters of disguise, fluent in double-speak, experts at selling hope they have no intention of delivering.

They don’t serve the people. They serve power.

Wake up. Question everything. Don’t fall for theatrics and staged tears.

Because if we keep treating clowns like kings, we’ll keep getting a circus instead of a country.
Sophia Jul 26
If I had a choice
Would I still be political
Would I still root for justice
equal opportunities for all

If I had a choice
Would I still care
Would I see the poverty
struggles of everyday people

If I had a choice
Would I still believe in everyone's right to a voice
Would I still support everyone's basic rights
If I was a rich straight man

But I'm not
So hypothetically it doesn't matter
Cause I am who I am now
And I'm not rich
And I'm not straight
And I'm not a man.
They promise change with folded hands,
Smiling under posters bright as betrayal,
Speech echo in the air-
Loud, Grand, Hollow
Truth lost in piles of garlands and currency notes.

The poor waits in queues,
Not for justice,
But for ration that rarely arrives;
Bridges are broke before they are built
But contracts signed in backroom,
With silent nods and heavy envelopes.

Votes are bought,
News are sold,
But the truth-
Edited out to scandal too risky to air.

Ministers built their statues,
Hold meetings with ambassadors,
While the Farmers hang from trees,
Where no one mourns.

They chant "Bharat Mata ki Jai",
But ignore the daughter who walks miles,
For Water,
For School,
For Hope.

We are told to believe,
To clap,
To cheer,
But some of us are done being fooled.

The Constitution offers justice,
But they deny their own promises.
Ignoring every proof-
Buried beneath their speeches and slogans.

But Truth cannot stay locked away,
It shines through night and breaks the day,
The throne of lies will lose its might,
When justice stands and shows the light
Sophia Jul 25
I wish I didn't care
that innocents die whilst I write stupid poems
that human lives are treated as despensable
that people suffer death over petty disputes
in a world run by toddlers

I wish I could live in ignorance
that I did not know the worlds struggles
that people starve in poverty
whilst I make a mess of baking cupcakes
that animals are beaten and abandoned
humans abused

I wish I didn't care
I wish I had the attitude of the rich
in their posh gold thrones
with the power to end the problems
but no will to
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