The Delusional Magic of Poetry

Here I am starved, disadvantaged.
You elitist-Are you happy now?
Telling me to live life to the fullest?
With your smug expression,
You say that you are undaunted by death


I know science-
The stars are my guide
Sometimes, they artfully arrange themselves
As personages of larger than life heroes
Giving me more promise than your verbose theories

You disprove of my imagination,
How dare you mock the symbolic "God" of my dreams?
Who are you to insinuate that I'm somehow
At an evolutionary disadvantage
You say I'm arrogant for dreaming, you're arrogant
For insisting that  every sad person on this Earth
Disowns the fabric of their spiritual imagination

Poetry clothes me with illusory visions
Stories uplift me, when I feel hunger pangs
Some "God" lifts me up, Prayer gives me hope for food
Why aren't you granting me food, you logical charlatan?
You chide me for illogical dreams and yet leave me to suffer


Envisage my sallow body like one atom amongst many
Except, we aren't unfeeling.
Each of these innumerable atoms are
Weighed with grief, paradox
How can you reduce me to a tragic accident?

Maybe, my dreams are just the means to survive
Perhaps, my genes have consigned me to this fate
Who cares if my tears are triggered by my animated mind?
Do you not see the heavy burden that belies these stoic explanations?
Do my cries, among millions, fall on deaf, scientific ears?

Science isn't everything, its a fascinating thing
You have manipulated into a weapon for the elite
Cast shadows over more people who are not just-
Economically disadvantaged, but genetically restrained as well
To you, we're nothing but the thoughtless accident of a
Universe with a pronounced identity crisis



Will you not remember the "heart" beyond the arteries?
Or the mind beyond the brain's hemispheres?
Why is science so reductive to you?
How can't it bolster our curiosity?
Does it have to be termed with solemn certitude?




What is the substance of this poem?
Is the chemical composition of my paper, my pen
Substandard to the emotive power that the words imply
Or the greater nuance our minds glean
Poetry and pain are one in the same
They're one great, substantive delusion of the mortal mind
Yet their intensity can never be reduced or forgotten