Poems About Society Novels & Stories

They open the new submissions, journals, sketches, coded dreams, solar poems, sky-written vows. They place them inside. Then they bow their heads. Not in grief. But in reverence. Because they know: The fire is not in the pages. It is in the choice to write them. So I keep burning. Through drought and war. Through joy and birth. Through quiet revolutions that look like hugs, and wild ones that sound like protests. Every time someone chooses compassion over control… I spark. Every time a young girl dares to say, “I have something to say”…

The sun over Lagos burned without mercy, turning every metal roof into a sheet of fire. At the bus stop, the air quivered with exhaust fumes, impatient honks, and voices raised in the daily battle of survival. Promise stood apart from the crowd, clutching her bag tightly against her body. Her red heels pressed into the cracked pavement, the straps biting her ankles, but her chin stayed level. The words she had written the night before pulsed through her veins: Broken shoes, unbroken steps.

And then, the paper began to feed. ​It wasn't a law. It wasn't a debt. It was a poem a collective, crowdsourced verse pulled from the "Warmth" of the city’s hybrid receipts. ​We are the ink that refused to dry. We are the light that learned to stay. Between the zero and the one, We found the thumbprint in the grey. ​

"I'm tired, Elyse," "I'm tired of this kind of society. I'm not going to say that I'm tired of this world because the world has nothing to do with it, we're just living in this world. The number one problem is the people around us." I feel his hand patting my shoulder. "What can we do? this is your new world, the one that just keeps up with the flow of the surroundings. Let's just try not to mind them, we have different lives to care and to live."

It was an order meant to be fulfilled immediately. The driver nodded. "I can try but I am not sure I am going to easily locate the place. But I can try. There is no harm in trying, right?" "There is absolutely no harm in trying out something new. After all, there came a time when the blind guys thought of spending time with the deaf girls in the evening. A time when the glory that left came back in a simpler form that only a few could understand. Even in the darkness, men still make merry. Even in the light, women still cry. And yet, many do not call that a poem but an epic fall from glory. What do you call it? How do you see it? Do you see it as an epic fall from glory or a poem about a man

He said, "Mr. Michaels, that's very hurtful of you to say! I must have a word with you today! "What’s equality? What does society care about now? It's equality! No job is noble or humble. You can be a business owner or you can also be a farmer, but we're all people. We have self-esteem! Who guards our country's borders day and night? Who adds bricks and tiles to our cities under the scorching sun? Who patrols day and night to keep our company safe?

“You can just fail, we don’t care?’’ someone said within the class and we all laughed. “Exactly, those are the reactions I want, we read Anna KARENNINA BY Leo Tolstoy and it was another story, heart touching, with some controversial facts. But today, I want us to talk about other things that the society is ashamed of, what no one dares to talk about, what the society is trying so hard to burry and literature wants to unearth,’’ he breathed and smiled as we all listened attentively. A hand went up and we all looked at the person. “But that would change the fabric of society? There are laws and underlying rules, some visible and others invisible when we change them, the society will be in ruin

I have got a few friends here who supported me every time through thin and thick. Human beings are full of wishes which are never-ending because it's in their nature. Some want money, looks or fame or some want attention and appreciation but some people want a happy and peaceful life and I'm one of them, trust me every single person wants it subconsciously. Life is not a bed of roses. There are sorrow and happy moments. Society plays a big role in your misery or success, on the top of it when you are an Indian girl and tagged with the title of 'to be ex-wife'. let's not talk about it now, it's a story for another time.

Like a fragile subject everyone preferred not to examine too closely. “Thank you,” I said calmly. They moved on. Another couple approached. Then another. Compliments. Polite laughter. Subtle curiosity. And beneath it all, calculation. I could see it clearly now. This was what society really was. Not some powerful force capable of destroying lives with a single rumor. No. It was a crowd. A shifting, uncertain crowd that simply followed whoever stood at the center of power. They had no opinions of their own. They simply moved with the current.

A century? One thing I know is how warm it made me feel. I just wanted to lose myself in her voice, in her laughter and warmth... "I don't know what people will say, the society," she said softly when the laughter subsided, making me look up in surprise. I have always been the one talking about society shit! I scoffed, "June, the society doesn't give one shit about you. They are so good at criticizing. That's all they do. Trust me, nobody out there is after your happiness. You will have to create that yourself."