Foreword: Over the past four weeks I have been studying the poems of Sylvia Plath as part of my IB English Literature class. I was horrified at first by the poet’s repeated themes of death and suicides, but her confessional poetry style inspired me to write one myself. I had not written a poem in years, but I think this one is pretty decent. It has a self-depreciating tone to it, but from the feedback I got so far from my friends, they could relate to it at a personal level. I dedicate this poem to everyone who struggles daily with mathematics in school, myself included!
A. A. Kamalov
“Open page six-hundred sixty six.”
What? Can you not comprehend,
Or is mere mention
Of digits cause a slight convulsion?
So why do you bother to attend?
You are ill; I have the correct cure
A dose of methamphetamine, prescribed –
To soften that insomniac visage.
No? You refuse my assistance
And keep desisting. Understand that
Formulae and functions
Sustain your slipping sanity.
Universal, God created all in
Six days, He calculates
And you should too. It’s plain simple:
Logic, trinity and sin, ‘cause
All is answered in numerals.
Pythagoras, Newton, the giants –
Thank Lord for your existence.
Still unconvinced? Let me hand you
This ancient abacus; divine device
Bestowing intellect to ineptitude
Millions, graduate with its blessing;
Yet you do not, you tumble and turn.
A past prime figure, a legend;
Pride of your forbears. But today,
A piercing katana, crushed hopes
Dream to reborn from crimson crosses –