MALIGNANCY

Poems sing of love,
soft and tender, but
words can be pretenders,
lulled by their splendor,

There is little love
In silent agendas,
We may need to abandon
Love for a while,
As long as malignancy
Is fertile,

The world is hostile,
Away from its best,
Is it another test
of resilience?

I see indifference,
And pseudo smiles
From across the aisle,
Is it time again
for resistance?

Yes, we need love,
Yes, we bleed blood,
The days no longer
Ordinary, and sometimes
scary, giving birth to
a new kind of revolutionary.