doom of youth

by Isabella Pejkovic

@isppejkovic on instagram


Beneath the sycamore,

lies a thorned rose,

plucked by a gardener who is too old to know,

that sometimes the doomed need time to grow.

to learn to see the wrong that has been written,

to see the nightmare that blooms beneath the thorns of the people.

but the gardener is naive,

shaped by society,

not by the free,

for the doomed know,

that a rose needs to grow,

to show its true colours.

Feign indifference to a conversation,

on the way the world turns,

for the doomed seek for something,

something that should be known.

for this is not a dream,

a vision that you can escape,

there is nothing you can do but scream. 


a piercing scream,

a gunshot can be heard,

loud and clear in the morning air,

echoing in the halls,

the little girl says a prayer.

she prays for her sister,

her brother and mother,

that the man won’t take them away. 


The doomed voice their opinion,

on the death of that girl,

the one who prayed,

the one who hoped,

the one who dreamed.

but do they listen?

the naive wonder why this happens.

why people die from other's chain reactions,

their thoughts ... their fears,

for there is no rest for the doomed,

nor for the wicked,

or the cunning or the truthful. 

for they search and search for an answer,

an answer that will not come.

For the world breaks with each passing day,

an endless nightmare,

filled with fumes of society.

Chaos is their order,

the fruit of their vine,

Naivety thrives on destruction,

they seek a demise.

the people are restless,

a stir of the pot. 


the doomed all sit on the stair,

the naive argue around them.

near the cemetery,

they hear a girl say a Hail Mary,

hoping the world is to change. 


“don’t try lying, we know that it's dying,” they say. 


Naive fall quiet,

wishing to cause a riot,

to get the doomed to be quiet.

the naive are struck, by the voices,

the ones of the doomed. 


For you are the doomed,

you are the free,

you are the ones they call the youth. 


The youth wait,

almost as though this could be a twist of fate,

but the naive simply say

“just go away”.

Chaos is their order,

the fruit of their vine,

Naivety thrives on destruction,

they seek a demise.

The demise of the youth,

the voices, revolts,

almost as though this could be stopped,

a silence that they all could adopt.

But this is not true, for the youth will continue,

to carve a path in the days of fate,

for the youth are what matters,

for they are not actors,

they are the ones you truly see.


a note from the artist-

"I wrote a piece a little while ago that reflects political climate. It's rather tense at the moment, particularly all over the world, as older individuals tend to ignore the younger generations. We are the ones inhabiting such a wild world, we inherit their mistakes, their faults, flaws. We wish to listen but they only ignore."

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