Kevin's Suicide

I know that hunger and pain can never be subjects of a poem
They are not liberated like the air and jungle
A guilt and remorse fill in for a suffering
Some feelings and hatred are slowly given forms
The World wants from us and We give
We no longer try to move and walk
We have started loving our chains

Kevin Carter's Pulitzer Prize Winning Photograph is pinned on the bulletin board where it will be seen by all
People will express sorrow without feeling and knowing some miseries
Their eyes can only see the vulture and that form which was once a child
We all are hesitant in noticing the contorted bones, the swollen belly and eyes buried in ground
It disturbs our peace and silence
We talk in whispers over hunger and Kevin's suicide
Talking aloud would make us naked with our truths

We never think why he committed suicide
He was depressed and we condemn him for running when he could have taken the initiative
We speak of politics, policy measures and relief aid
We don't waste our food any longer
There is still some humanity abandoned deep

He committed suicide as he was civilized
Tired and helpless of the ways of world, his soul could still reach and touch
For him sadness was a burning fire or a cold pit
He knew the superficiality and futility of the very society which forced him to run that day
When he didn't hold the child in his arms
He was already carrying his fears and agony

He felt those colors of love submerged in some lighted taverns
Few expanses were understood
Whatever happened was only a reflection of the turmoil inside
In middle of silences he often heard the deafening cries

He was aware of the cruel games of civilization and barbarism
No longer bothered by his dry eyes and watery heart
He had succumbed them before this altar long before
The blanks were filled by non-existent thoughts
And he committed suicide to be liberated with the child, air, water and sun.




P.S. This is a very old poem of mine which i wrote way back in March 2005.

It begins thus..

Man is essentially a philosophical being. He cannot live in stagnancy and perpetual and ceaseless motion also tend to disturb him. Maybe he is only able to live completely and fully within a transition, within the actual space time when he is travelling from one point to next. At times the journey is unending and the most honest and true companion of a man, his thoughts only reveal themselves in boredom and tediousness of the entire endeavor of growing.

The salubrious nature of human thought (not necessarily societal and customary) is realized best when man looks at himself both from either end of the mirror known as human mind. On one side lies an extensive dump of what he has gathered and accumulated with his contact to outer word and on other end lies his subconsciousness which is his alter ego. This subconsciousness propelled by the unconscious dilutes all that is worthless and retains only that which is going to help the chain of thoughts in yet another further point in time space. All Déjà vu is a result of this dilution and retaining process.