A Poem by Brihintha Burggee

If The World Crumbles Down

 

You are not the wails of

despaired orphaned wombs

that have been shredded prematurely.

 

You are not the arms,

opened to nowhere in despair

that yearn the fieriness of their beloved.

 

You are not the torn flesh

of pristine fledglings –

the pregnant dove,

now splashed with bloody stains.

 

You are not the rubble

that opens its cracks after every blast,

to welcome death's darkness,

 

And yet!

 

You are the clamour

that can rouse the heedless;

 

You are the beam

that can lift a prayer to the heavens;

 

You are the united mass

that can lower heads,

out of lofty crowns and pride

and overthrow the canker,

out of hearts.

Aged 20, Brihintha Burggee is enjoying the experience of writing her first poems. She lives in a small paradise island called Mauritius in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Her works have been previously published by The Rainbow Rose, The Camel Saloon, Mad Swirl and Leaves of Ink.