Sunday, March 7, 2010


Oh, sleeping giant,
Awake from this somnambulistic state.
Shake off the weight of countless lies
And drowsiness of paralyzing fear.
Open your eyes to the sickness
That pervades your soul
Where, even in your pain,
Truth holds the precedent;
A beacon shining in the darkness of the night,
A call to move your bones
Set in the habitude of acquiescence,
Your creaky joints will bend and move again.

Do not turn your eyes away,
Even as you turn the other cheek,
For though you make a conscious choice
To hide your head in blinding desert sands,
You are responsible.
The earthquake that will move your very world
Will bury you and all your sacred cows.
Adorn yourself with courage and stand strong,
Like the sequoia that you are,
Where all the blustering winds
Of fabrications and false blames cannot break your majesty,
Rooted deep within your base of honor.

Let waters rise in mighty waves
To flood your consciousness
And wash away the excrement
That you don’t even notice anymore.
The stench of rotting greed
And putrid cesspools of your callousness
Must be cleaned out for hope to thrive again.
You will be shaken to your very core
If you do not but willingly arise.
Words of truth aren’t easily shrugged off
And those who speak them will not be silenced,
Like murmured whispers in the dark of night.

We think we are immune in isolation,
Anesthetized in trivia’s barrage,
But every child killed or maimed is ours,
As each and every one of us was born to mothers,
Who now lament the murder of our own.
The silence of our shame is deafening,
Screaming to stir up our apathy.
Where is the outrage of our mortal wounds,
That we succumb to comfort’s easy sleep?
We think we are awake, yet on we snore
To drown the cries of conscience in our heads.
No more, AWAKE! No more, no more, no more!

Prema Rose

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