A bird's eye view

 

As I was cleaning my home,

my eyes glanced at a folded

piece of paper. I opened it.

A Map. Of the world,

in my hand. I made it lie,

in front of me.

Index, colour codes,

other clues.

An old one; that, which

helped me learn my lessons

of history and geography;

it felt strange, irrelevant lands, painful stories, ancient sadness,

thoughtless madness, 

enduring hues.

Numerous scratches and scars,

bruised the world; countries,

with borders, boundaries.

What have we done, I mused,

I imagined homes; many homes,

gardens, giggles, dreams,

demolished, scarlet screams

of families smashed to smithereens

to fulfil the greed

of the few.

Truths unfolded before me,

in time, the piece of land we

call world had developed

scores of added divisions,

newer dissensions; I was a little

bemused, for my thought

as a pupil didn't change much;

even then, it was much easier to

memorize the names of the

mountains, the oceans, the

forests, and the rivers than 

to cram those man-made 

pack of lies, those territories

violated, abused.

I folded the map of the world,

back in its place, the old world, 

I just saw with a bird's

eye view.