As I behold your ashen faces
cast on this rubble that has become your
visa to the world of the dead
I sit still, stealing inexplicable glances
at the tomorrow we all used to dream about
now clouded with gloom and despair
Sorrow bites at my heart while I behold
the government’s sudden hyper-activity;
you are the sacrificial lambs needed to jolt
a sleeping government back to the realities of pain
The Police, Road Safety, Emergency Management Agency, Red Cross:
they were all here today
gathering again to celebrate another festival of blood
gathering again to rescue the dead
gathering again to administer another dose of medicine after death
But who will tell your stories?
A couple just coming back from their own wedding…
A bachelor at the advanced stages of preparations for conjugal bliss…
A number of unusually beautiful kids embracing tomorrow with confidence…
A family visiting home after many years in self-appointed exile…
A crew of charming ladies waiting for the tolling bells…
Your faces are swords in my heart
with each look at your smiles burrowing holes
in the fragments of my being
Together with the seven-score-and-one families broken-hearted
I feel pain and pain, and pain
I mourn, I sorrow and I weep
What words can describe the feelings of my heart?
What perfect concerto can be sung for the heroes of tragedy?
What condolence can best be conveyed to those left to bear the pain?
What explanations will suffice for those murdered in the discomfort of their homes?
What use can the president’s tears prove to be when he is immune to pain?
I walk along this lonely valley of questions
and I brood…