The Child Cherubim

I am the undersigned hereby, the earthly human child—behold;

Does it serve me right to be the begotten so-called?! 

Hearken, the plowshares plucking my seeds, 

I wonder, ain’t you mankind aware of my little needs?! 

Nothing might heal this world of roaming crows, 

Nothing can prospect throughout my eyebrows, 

Those perpetual whirls of the war tycoon, 

Belligerently inflict a curse of my ephemeral cacophony as soon, 

I swear in the name of whom my soul rest:

The child is the father of man—call it a jest! 

There is no spacious room for promising buds to sprout, 

We have to recline in our celestial abode— cherubim, with no doubt, 

Down to those legislations that numb their voices and deafen their ears, 

Ain’t we made of stone hearts that know no fears, 

We are the offspring of today and the filament bonfire of tomorrow;

Could you believe that hoax? Hard to describe thine sorrow, 

Verily, we deserve to populate this planet under the sun, 

A rare symbol of giving without asking, we are the one, 

Let-alone that kind of limbo we dwell, 

Ain’t we are created to be subjugated, I can’t tell! 

The Lord granted the globe with our bliss and glee, 

Now, we feel doomed as nothing, a flea, 

We are those Psalms, muses and angelic chants, 

We cannot withhold that human fettering rants, 

We are mongers of peace, love, playhood and serenity, 

Inside environs of snobbery and obscenity, 

Our plea for a world free from darkness loom, 

Will there be a day when aromatic roses bloom?! 

Our candles got dimmed with a helpless wick, 

Is it high time for humanity to save before the louder tick?!!!