4 posts
  • in_fragments 26w

    Cockroaches are super interesting creatures. They can live for weeks after losing their heads to predators, and have their own fantastic capacity for memory. They'd even be likely survive a nuclear apocalypse. What do you think the very last cockroaches will see? What kind of world will it be?
    #pod #poem #cockroaches #narrative #story @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    The Roach
    at The End of The World

    I scuttle over the rubble and gravel,
    bursts of polluted and thinning air
    spitting through my thorax;
    the surrounding areas are quiet,
    quelled of predators for now.
    My antennas spread apart,
    sensing on one side, fire-
    on the other, overwhelming flood-
    straddling the line between
    two explosively extreme forcefields;
    but still, I sense no need for movement,
    I stand atop a rock and watch
    as the earth implodes on itself;
    only when it comes close enough to me
    will my legs spike up the senses
    to finally scurry away.

    My eyes, like a million tiny televisions,
    surveying the sickened landscape-
    dead trees, animal corpses
    hidden within wood reduced
    to blackened skeletons,
    waters slim and breeding stagnation,
    fauna and flora on fire,
    buildings leveled back to the ground-
    rows and rows
    of open graves and desolation.
    No fleshy monsters
    left to stomp us out, their every legacy
    decomposing in forgotten lethargy.
    We, the roaches, the last beings left
    for no reason at all- the wind
    blowing faraway ash between my wings,
    old clay and mud stuck to my legs,
    the red sun seen from 360°- I see
    everything- my dark eyes are omnipotent.
    Fire and flood comes to cause balance
    after man's all around destruction;
    where there occurs the death of a species,
    there will soon arrive the birth of the next.
    I am a cockroach, and I will survive
    to see it all.

    I spread my thick eight inch wings,
    to fly through the ill-boding air,
    the currents carrying such heavy wastage
    along with their silence.
    My species, we watched all the others
    die away in droves. We, the victorious few,
    soaring by with no home to return to,
    we feed on the rot, thrive on dying herbs;
    Death's gifts to nature, with verve we
    gobble all and go forward.

    Then, amidst the sanguine horizon,
    in a flash I see
    my unwitting brother, caught mid-air
    by a bird in its merciless beak.
    In self preservation I touch back down
    to see a slick spider, all menace and fangs
    zooming its way along the ground for me.
    My own family, torn apart for each
    eye to see, to compound the truth,
    that we were not omnipotent!
    The final, palm-sized remnants
    of an expiring world, one moment growing,
    green and lush for all of us-
    the next, turned to ruins
    from fleshy monster's broken touch!

    My stridulation falls
    on derelict vibrations,
    with no one left to sound back or listen.
    So I am caught in the mouth of the devil,
    punctured head filling with venom,
    but my body breaks free
    and barrels astray from my brain-
    all thoughts and memories eaten away,
    now just a walking zombie, clotted shell,
    alive in apocalyptic hell-
    because only
    when you think you are safest
    does the seemingly distant danger become
    close enough to slaughter everyone.

    The roach with a head
    may gloat and boast- we were so close!-
    but now mine is lost, tossed,
    ripped from me forever,
    mercilessly leaving me doomed
    to loom under
    this burning sky as I slowly die,
    so that from my old flames,
    a new terrain
    can arise.

  • syllabic_writer 112w

    The Conqueror

    We evolve day by day.
    Dated back to millions of days.
    Remains in trillions of millions,
    fight and outlive the hardest of times.
    We,take a wing at the pulse of need,
    Leaped through the darkness with thinnest of hope,
    Till we end up in labs around
    For the future to go on.
    Don't mistake me by filthy human!
    I am no silly human.
    I am the conqueror cockroach,
    the one who survives the death.

    ©syllabic_writer | Gopika Nikhil

  • james_taumas 156w


    Underworld realm
    The discarded
    The ignored
    Overworld trash
    Washup on fatberg shores
    Living in obsidian night
    Verrmin and other paws
    Exoskin life flourish
    Survival's sole law
    Lights fear
    No one treads alone

  • jordynbrower 182w

    Pink Clouds

    The billows of the tides stalk me no where I go.
    Talk about a clasped locket,
    No longer secure in pink clouds,
    Which molest the saddening tides
    With deceiving strokes of time.
    They stiffly rise as the cockroaches proceed the current
    Into a revering tale.
    Presume the deep were to shadow me,
    And I greet those insects within a time piece.
    Who is not to say that one should sink rather than swim?
    Guaranteed, there is always floating.
    But I am no doll existing on an eternal shelf.
    Rather, I am a twisting termite
    Who shivers at the bottom of the dead sea,
    Cloaked in dust,
    Blanketed in oblivious memories,
    And masked in pink clouds.