Another bird crashed.
One more building crumbled
Like a pack of cards.
Only that cards are light, easily rearranged.
These ones, never again.
Bodies came out with no life, some with a semblance of life in them..supported by bones, too broken to ever be put together again.
No more. Never again.
Mothers in distress. Sifts through the debris. Of hurt.
Siblings. Lovers. Associates. Mentees. Mentors. Neighbours.
Tears, always quick to form an ocean, several oceans.
Unfamiliar colors, United in grief.
Soon to be swiftly swallowed by the parched throats of the very ground.
Upon which there was once a building. Leaning into another.
Over which a bird once flew. And perched. Before seeking damning rest.
Upon a morning. Two mornings.
Somebody. Some organizations fail(ed) to do right.
We are the poison.
We are the antidote.
This too shall pass.
The clock will keep tick-tock on.
Bodies will be gathered.
Like cards, scattered abroad.
Committed to rest, restless souls.
Taken before time.
Wailings will wane.
Schools will open.
Battles will be fought.
Wars will be won.
Hearts will throb.
Birds will fly.
Words will flow.
Writers will spring up.
Lyrics will blast.
Buildings will go up, dancing precariously in the wind.
Laughter will ring out.
Contracts will be sealed.
Jobs will be lost.
Careers will be started.
Clothes will be bought.
Owambe will continue.
Until the next pack of cards crumble.
And another bird gets crippled.
On the ground. In the air.
The cycle continues.
Somebody. Some organizations will still fail to do right.
We are the poison. We are the antidote.