Chucks Kpaduwa, Greece's National Honour
August 2026
The Telescope
The Telescope
You peer into the sockets holding these strangers' eyes,
Examining each minute detail of their glowing presence.
The train is quite jerky this morning,
But those standing seem to have perfected their stance.
You ponder why your own feet hadn’t adopted such rigidity,
Feeling weightless, even in your secure seat.
A glance at your watch: 7:35 a.m.
A sullen sigh escapes your lips, marking your mental defeat.
You had only woken up this morning because your throat had been sore,
And you never had a knack for crafting home remedies.
Your sight darts across sparkling suits of business casual,
“These are people of purpose”, your mind says.
But what was the difference? We all grew up here after all,
You peer closer; how had their lives become so tall?
With each silly mistake, “Use your head”, your mother always said,
But the beings here seemed to have more than one,
This length of inner doubt looked too long to overcome.
Surely, he or she still had some, beneath their life of sun.
The wheels whirred to a smooth stop,
Your ride has ended.
Your telescope analyses the precise patterns,
Of each stranger's stride.
You desperately try to emulate it,
A fitting façade you use to hide.
There’s a new flow of faces now, beyond the train,
An affluent crowd brews your ego’s disdain.
You pull back the objective lens,
Trying not to drown in the shuffle.
You’ve almost reached the pharmacy;
Hoping there, your thoughts will muffle
The door chime sounds as you step in,
You walk up to the counter.
The lady greets you with a serene smile,
The kind you see in magazines.
“Hi, what can I get you?” she asks,
Perhaps a lobotomy, or something of similar effect,
your subconscious spurts.
Instead, you ask of the red colored strepsils,
And pull out your phone to pay.
“That’s a lovely photo”, she excitedly exclaims,
“Your eyes look gorgeous”
It was one your grandfather had snapped last summer,
But he wasn’t here to give you that caring compliment.
The weight of your eyes feels heavier with a rush of water,
You blankly thank her as you exit the store.
Maybe the lens of your telescope had been tinted,
You choose to leave it lying beneath you now.
You step out into the spring air, and for the first time in a while,
Let loose a widespread smile.
Score: 60 out of 100.
A sincere, idiosyncratic free-verse piece with a genuinely moving turn at the pharmacy, held back by uneven rhyme control and patches of awkward diction.
Read the August 2026 National Honours