A City of Thieves
“What we call casual poetry—verses written on kitchen napkins, often forgotten—reminds us that poems are a natural part of human expression… or at least, they should be. My hope is to capture the antagonistic nature of humanity in the 21st century. How does one capture such corruption on paper? The ethics of industries and modern work culture are major topics of debate. What good is individualism if it leads to the downfall of one’s well-being? Each poem is a cry from humanity. The pieces explore the lives of various people and their environments. Both a billionaire oil company CEO and a burned-out office worker have a connection to their environments. My hope is to preserve the fleeting present. Each poem follows how industrial, political, and economic changes have influenced humanity as a whole. The poems are meant to bring attention to the peculiarities… or struggles of various people.”
—Suprya Sarkar, 16, Connecticut.
It is May and I’m still jobless.
I thought this city was meant to give birth to dreams.
What dreams, they can only devise schemes.
I would rent out a place
But penny tosses and angry bosses consume my day.
I wonder if they truly hold up to their promises of Agony… obliteration.
The pencil taps
Or the ticking of my twelve-dollar watch
Has room for little patience in their world.
I fantasize about what to say.
Like a parakeet reciting words to catch bait,
I revise my questions.
For how many times,
Who is to say?
They close the door on the poor man in white.
Goddammit,
A university degree
And I’m just as broke as that streety?
My friends from home don’t bother to pick up the Phone.
Ring, Ring, oh shoot,
My phone bill is laying on the floor.
Why bother trying to restore the old?
A long-neglected Porsche,
Yeah, I think that’s who I am.
What is all this brooding for?
I am writing home
As if even my own mother remembers my name.
Don’t worry they say,
“You’ll get your own place someday!”
—Suprya Sarkar, age 16, originally from Bangladesh, now lives in Connecticut.
