Collective Unrest

 

Mob Rule

February 27, 2019

Consider this sea of movement, the multitude in waves.
Now, deceptively calm, until by a mysterious wave
of a demagogue’s hand, it shall arise tidal
to sweep and ruin everything in its path.

Then, what crimes in whose or what name
will be committed?

And history is replete with precedents
which lessons we refuse to learn
or have unlearned:

A hundred flowers bloomed,
a thousand flowers crushed.

First they predicted a fire,
then they started a fire.

(Last night, I taught my children to weep in secret
because the predators,
when they see tears,
smell blood.)

In the name of superstition, religion.
In the name of science, revolution.
In the name of one man.

It shall be another spectacular but unbeautiful release.
A pyrotechnics of collective anger.
A cause righteous or unrighteous
but without doubt waged
virulently—violent
and vicious.

We’ll run away to survive,
only to perish
at borders.

 

Karlo Sevilla’s poems appear in various literary platforms, and one of them is nominated by Ariel Chart for the 2018 Best of the Net Anthology. A runner-up in Submittable’s 2018 National Poetry Month contest, he currently studies creative writing in the Polytechnic University of the Philippines. His poetry collection, “Metro Manila Mammal,” was published by Soma Publishing in May, 2018.

Please follow and like us:
In category:
Newer Post

a theory of anatomies

The men found her and sat on her legs, winding her body backwards and forwards until all that was left was a wind up toy plucked out of a child’s jewelry box. Heavily pregnant, she walked. A shattered lady, white…
Read
Older Post

Maine Pastor Seeks to Ban Books on the Library’s Banned Book Display

Because the boys kissing on the cover remind him of his first kiss. Because he thought anal sex is a type of pagan worship. Because his wife was “too pure” to try it. Because he noticed a rainbow on a…
Read
Random Post

Insects of War

Do you remember being small and singing that bringing home a baby bumble bee would make my mommy proud of me? But when the two tallest roses in our meadow were plucked the bee was squashed, it’s warm, yellow fuzz…
Read
Random Post

to white folks

“if i had a son, he would look like Trayvon.” —President Obama ​ if we can be sisters you pressin hot comb to my hair while al green whispers in memphis heat me fussin tellin you ain’t no boy gonna…
Read
Random Post

17

When I was 17, my biggest concern was wondering when I could jerk off next, not thinking I’d have to convince jerk-offs why my math teacher shouldn’t have to trade their ruler in for a gun. When I was 17,…
Read
Random Post

The four times I spilled tea on my dress

The first time I spilled tea on my dress was when I first met you. I recognized you, a loner, and in your eyes I saw myself, a dreamer whose nights filled with images of ordinary life. I was wearing…
Read