A Paradox
They’re all too sharp and bright. Sedulous kids.
Rich parents raised them. Teachers, old and wise,
preserve their greatness. Even fate forbids
ill luck from harming them. Wealth in their eyes.
Their days are filled with butter, nights with cream,
and afternoons with friend groups having cars
bigger than their parents’. When they dream,
they dream of drinking, boogying in bars.
And I, a fading optimist, was told
that hardships and discomfort shape a man,
yet here I am still waiting, growing old
and thinking of the hour I began.
These teenage kids have never battled pain
yet vanquished it, gained more than what I’ve gained.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from Assam, India, where he resides with his parents. His poems have been published by Sparks of Calliope, The Hypertexts, Snakeskin, Ink Sweat & Tears, Autumn Sky Daily, Ekstasis, among others. He received second place in the Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest, 2024.
Shamik, an observation well-expressed with echoes of Job and Solomon (Ecclesiastes) who felt much the same (as have I). Yet flames, while beautiful, when they have consumed their host leave little behind but ash. You, I suspect, will leave behind something more substantial if nothing more than the legacy of your verse! And as for pain and hardship, one cannot vanquish what one has not faced. Only those who have fought their way to the top of the mountain can fully appreciate, enjoy and embrace the beauty of the view.
Shamik, those who fought their way to the top are doomed by those who never have known hardship. What a great expression of those who were bequeathed wealth, power, and status being ignorant of the struggles of others and the fortitude it takes to climb the ladder. James Tweedie’s comment perfectly describes the situation. History is not kind to cultures (nations and dynasties) filled with such privileged individuals such as you succinctly expressed.
What I read here, Shamik, is a carefully managed point of view that tells us much more of the speaker than of the rich kids to whom he compares himself. He’s good enough to give them credit for diligence with “sedulous” as a descriptive adjective. But then his view of them seems to grow more envious when he considers their ease and pleasures. He even imagines their dreams. With that focus on others, no wonder his optimism fades. He seems to have had hardships and discomfort and pain, without seeing any gain on his own part. Forget about the kids. Your poem opens up wonder as to why the speaker hasn’t reaped any benefits of maturity through his experiences. I don’t take this poem as a complaint from you personally, but as a character sketch of someone who’s missed opportunities to grow up, and then embittered himself by wishing life had been more privileged. It’s a subtle achievement!
No kidding, dude! It takes more than a lifetime to learn everything you need to learn. Nice poem — well constructed and as sharp as surgical steel..