Burnaby, BC, 21 December 2024 – (I landed in Canada on 6 July 2018, at the peak of summer in Burnaby. Jetlag was terrible, so sleep crept in hard during my first Canadian month. At the old house on Rosser Avenue, where I had the liberty to watch the beautiful sunset at 9 PM in our quiet backyard on July 7, 2018, I wrote the first six stanzas of this poem. I imagined the pretty clouds to be the inspiration for the poem, but I ended up writing differently because, I guess, my heart was bleeding profusely for the shambling country that I left. The last four stanzas were finished at dawn today. Enjoy.)
Beastly By Bella Balisi-Bevilacqua The leaders' tongues — a dance of lies, They climb the mountain, blind with pride, Their words like honey — sweet disguise, And yet, beneath — the truth derides. They bask in praise and seek it still, A constant need, an endless thrill — With each step, a crooked hill, To climb again, and climb until— The summit’s reached, but not the soul, For praise alone will make them whole. A glance — a nod — they hunger so, Their minds adrift in shadowed glow, The fleeting cheers, the hollow show — A fame that feeds the heart below. They march with pride but limp with doubt, The whispers made were a sacred shout. The world they build — so grand, no doubt, Yet, in its walls — there is no clout. No comfort gained, no peace within, For those who lead, yet never win. With every smile, they pull a thread, From hearts they touch to hearts they tread. The flattery — the praise so dead, A fleeting balm to keep them fed. The mirror cracks, but they don’t see, That hollow men are never free. In endless praise, they place the key, Unlocking only such vanity. The crowd cheers, but does it care? Or is it blind to all that’s there? Beneath the crown, a beast does wait, A primal need, a twisted fate — It feeds on flattery, it lives on hate, It gnashes teeth; it seals the gate. A heart so cold, it cannot trust, In praise, it finds its only lust — It gathers fans, it stirs the dust, And builds a kingdom out of rust. Leaders lost in selfish schemes, Wake only to twisted dreams. They weave fabrics of deceit, In silky threads, they stand complete — But fragile as the ground beneath, Each lie is like a subtle thief. Their need for more — it never dies, A hunger hidden by their eyes, And when the crowd no longer sighs, They search the skies; they seek the prize. A bitter dance — they cannot cease, Validation brings them peace. In whispered halls, they make their pleas, To gather strength, to bend the knees, Of those who watch, who never freeze — Who feel the pulse, who never leave. A clever smile, a sharpened word, To hide the sting, to keep unheard — The empty truth, so tightly stirred, Forgetting who they once preferred. A leader, yes, but lost in need, A servant, yes, for only their selfish creed. They build the walls, they shape the clay, Yet, in the end, they fade away — For every crown will one day sway, And every king must yield the day. The crowd may cheer but leave no trace, The hands that clapped will not embrace — A hollow echo fills the space, Of every leader’s empty grace. For they were beasts, and beasts still roam, In kingdoms of their own — alone. And what of those who seek to lead? Are they too cursed with twisted greed? Do they, too, fail and still proceed, To plant a seed and make it bleed? The leaders rise, but must they fall? Are they to give or take it all? And when they choose to hear the call, Do they rise; do they stall? The beastly hunger is never still, It gnashes sharply; it bends to will. The need for praise — it knows no end, It wears the cloak; it arches the bend. For those who lead but cannot mend, The hearts they break, the rules they bled. The leaders stand; they seek the fight, They chase the sound of fleeting light. But when the crowd forgets the sight, They fade to shadow, lost from the night. A beastly hunger, cold and vile, A need to claim — and never smile. So let them leaders cry for more, Let them parade from door to door. But as they seek — in rich décor — It is only what they’ve had before. For leaders fall, as beasts must do, In the endless search for something new. They chase the crowd — but what they knew, Was never real and never true. And when they fall, the beast remains, A shadow deep — that no one claims.
(MBB)
