by Anusha B., 17
Humanity is a person, double dipped in oblivion.
Looking in a mirror she sees only the back of her head,
never the full
picture.
Unaffected.
She gets distracted by the electric feel her lustrous hair holds,
she runs a hand through it,
dismissing the rest of the world with that simple hand movement.
Very rarely does her double ended picture
go by
noticed.
She sometimes feels
the echoes of the cries wisp up behind her,
she hesitantly turns to look.
The slow curve of her head
brings her curtained hair splashing, deliquescing
back on her face,
distracting her once again.
She might sporadically remember
that there was something she was trying to do.
She turns her head back and her vision encompasses her,
until it lands
on what catches her eye
and deafens her ears.
Her shoes sparkle with privilege
as the bling brings her attention,
begging her to stare and admire.
The shrieks from behind her lay dull
and
benign.
Her attention is elusive,
dripping through cracks of a floor
the moment it’s needed.
She turns back to the mirror with ease,
admires the contrast between her black hair
and blood red
poncho,
pulls out her phone.
Her nails rain on the screen,
gaining headway, scrolling miles through superficiality.
She’s satisfied (for now),
soaking in ignorance
waiting to drown her.
The cries she’d heard were silenced,
but wailing louder
than ever,
the euphemistic idea of them annoying her.
The begs from behind her
now became palpable,
but with each new decibel,
it became a new level of execrable.
She holds power.
With her louche
technology,
her dirty
money,
the corrupt
connections she held to the world.
But that power became beguiling.
It twisted
into selfishness that stood as an impasse
between her despotism
and others who needed her.
The throats of the desperate
became raw and chafed,
voices reducing to tendrils
soaked in hopelessness
as they watched her turn away,
apathetic
and prideful.
She couldn’t be bothered
to stoop low enough to help,
because it didn’t affect her.
It never mattered
and ultimately ignorance
And procrastination
Became the death ofmillions.
New Jersey, USA
Notes from our interns on selecting this piece: Prior to even reading, this poem stood out the most to me because of its unique formatting and seemingly dual-natured representation. I had to read it more than once, twice even, not to make sense of it, but simply to give the writing what it deserved in terms of my understanding and retention of the piece. I think the poet did a wonderful job at emitting emotion in their readers and in genuinely speaking from the heart. I wanted to point out a specific stanza that stuck to me even later in my day, the one that starts “She holds power.” The hidden perverseness of the subject of the poem is what makes the entire piece all the more intense and I think the poet should be really proud of this piece!
Bridge Ink 