We, TheProse

We can safely assume that here at TheProse.com, the majority of us likes poetry. We form a community, a barracks armed with words to protect and propagate our kind. The tighter we band, the more chances of successful skirmishes whether north, south, west or east of Baghdad we have. The internet has given us guerilla warfare, we are already all over the globe from all over the globe and the keyboard is our emblem. It's a dog eat dog world out there and for us to make it through, we gotta do what we gotta do. Kill or be killed. Join us or die.

What would you say to someone who didn't like poetry? Convince him he does by expanding its definition? Tell him how he's lacking in his sight of beauty? Shun him verbally, condescendingly torture him as the Other that isn't us, that'll never be us?

"Bully them.

Divide and conquer.

Tax them for all they've got," grin the overlords rubbing their hands with economic policies, free trade, money money money.

This isn't a war. Wars end. This is the human condition, to grab identities off whatever rabbit hole we've fallen in and stand our ground. To pour bucketfuls of meaning on top of it and die for it, only hope that your children too will die for it also. This is the human condition. To work our way from the herd all the way to freedom and individual expression, only to clump together in separate tribes which often trade and flourish, and often stay strangers and often hate. The human condition to want to love equally and completely, to unite yet not have to cope with difference.

What would I say to someone who didn't like poetry? I'd ask them about their day, their other interests, the colour of their lover's eyes. I would not say anything at all, I would talk to them.