Analysis of This
This is it. 1997 (New Delhi)
And when the tuna ate my flesh,
I screamed not in pain,
Standing there aghast
Soul eating tulips i grow,
Hatred within babies i sow,
A day when women slit
Every man's throat
The day Gods will yield guns
And devil sleeps with white Pigeons
And so it happens
This will be it,
Am I humanity am I even human?
This earth i raped leaving behind none.
Misbehaved with these rivers
Nature's suicide
It matters to me? No.
Hatred within babies i grow.
| Scheme | ABCDEFGHHHFIIJKDD |
|---|---|
| Poetic Form | |
| Metre | 01010111 11101 10101 1101011 10011011 011101 10011 011111 01011110 01110 1111 110100111010 111110011 011110 1010 110111 10011011 |
| Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
| Characters | 441 |
| Words | 91 |
| Sentences | 5 |
| Stanzas | 1 |
| Stanza Lengths | 17 |
| Lines Amount | 17 |
| Letters per line (avg) | 20 |
| Words per line (avg) | 5 |
| Letters per stanza (avg) | 347 |
| Words per stanza (avg) | 83 |
About this poem
Bitter truth
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Written on October 01, 2019
Submitted by doctormanas1997 on March 13, 2022
Modified on March 05, 2023
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"This" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 2 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/122468/this>.
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