BROTHERS IN GRIEF
A cyclone ravages a city, terror grips the air,
Strong passionate gusts of wind swirl the countryside,
Unwiling people die stark, hungry deaths;
Is it a spectacle for the elite to watch?
Is it considered an in-thing to discuss it
In the dangerous confines of cosy, urban flats?
People mix semantics with jargon, and pontificate
On the breakdown of the State Machinery.
The callousness of the officials, the stinginess,
The entire thing is reduced to media hype.
What lives after the cyclone dies?
A storm battered grave of brutality.
Sodomy perpetrated by nature, implacable,
A betrayed state rents her breasts with wails,
Wails of anger at being cheated by the Mother Earth.
A cyclone rages in my mind too,
Winds rush into the low pressure vortex,
Created when you walked out of my mind.
I am riding under the cerebral strains,
Of the past happiness migling with an uncertain future
I cannot receive aid, the stench of the
Rotting memories pervades my being.