Grievances by Small Letters
written by: Solahudeen Ridwanullah O.
We live in the pages
Of a book, a book of contempt
Where every letter tends to know their height
By the stand of another.
One of them, capital ‘A’ by a look from afar
Appears with a jack right under its shoulder
So high, like a standing antelope.
We ain’t the cursed
Nor the unfortunate
We’re just unlucky
That this poet, called God
Made us minors of all His characters
We’re minors, aren’t we?
Look at other letters
As they’re capitalised; too grown up beyond the arm of Concord.
Look for us in ‘John’, a four-lettered word.
After the prominent ‘J’, we’re the predicate.
But then, we refuse to be judged by our birth
For we aren’t too minute to be seen
And yet, this poem is incomplete
Until, in the end,
Them, god of thunder
Relies on our local drum
To make him do a laudable dance
Expect the world to turn around
Like a pot of raffle draw
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