Life, what they all hold ‘most dear.’
Their many hands, clutching mobiles -
The many mouths, moving, the teeth, the tongues, the lips, 'moving' -
And the children excited, laughing, shouting, running, weeping -
Tears: a luxury the news just brought in.
The grown ups, grown up: as it becomes clear -
Apocalypse is undoubtedly a wake.
Fear is a smell:
Lavender, for no reason.
And one wonders why
One wonders why
The clouds still amble lazily
Across the gray-dark, rain-laden sky -
This friend of mine, meanwhile, dressed in fluorescent pink
Complains how the unheard explosions blew her plans
To sing in the "Glorious" choir that evening, away –
Yet, as death and life go by,
Hand in hand,
No one really seems to want to die.