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The Poison of Poetry
Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves.
~1984 by George Orwell, published June 8, 1949
Who is that standing under the mountaintop;
could it be the shadow of The Old Poet,
and is it speaking The Poet's verses nonstop
in voices young and old as if Thou Knowest
the depth of my soul and the words it would drop
into the valley of voracious locust;
the poems devoured by its mindless minons,
spewed like poison in their vast pavillion?
Copyright ©
Chetta Achara
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