Empty Shells-A Poem

 

Empty shells of buildings, once Homes, with

Beating hearts, gape across a debris-strewn wasteland.

A cooked breakfast lies forlorn on plates, half-finished,

Half-empty cups  of tea waiting to be emptied

Evidence of a hasty exodus, people fleeing a pestilence.

Unfortunately, this is not a pandemic of germs and

Viruses but, rather,  something worse. It is the  madness of

Men who strive for dominance over others, of

Selfishness and greed, and hate and exclusion,

Killing innocence hopes and aspirations of the innocent.

An exodus of massive proportions takes place as whole towns are

Laid to waste, empty, blackened windows gaze at uncertain futures.

Gutted cities, smoke-filled skies replace once-thriving cities

That once hosted thriving communities of people, all destroyed

By those seized by a fit of madness!If only it were a bad dream.

Across the horizon, a deadly tempest sweeps across continents,

Like never seen before! Driven by pride, madness and greed,

It strives to feed on pity love, compassion, hope and kindness.

It spares none, lovers, mothers, children, men, old or

Young, no, not even the unborn, ready to arrive!

And slowly, but inexorably a pestilence sweeps across continents

Feeding on apathy, hatred and insensitivity in a world divided.

Those who watch from far away, with grins on their faces,

Waiting to pounce wearing smiles on their greedy faces.

Do they know they will themselves be consumed by the fire?

Empty shells of buildings, once Homes, with beating

Hearts, gape across a debris-strewn wasteland. An unfinished

Breakfast lies forlorn on plates, tea cups half-finished

Of tea waiting to be drunk, signs of a hasty exodus!

And all this while all this time the storm draws closer.

Homes are like shelters for souls and beating hearts,

Repositories of warmth and love, where dreams are nurtured,

Hearths and hopes kindled. But they are destroyed

Without a thought, they become empty shells. The machines

Of war are unleashed to rob humanity of its soul and spirit.

Burnt-out cities, smoking skies, upturned cars on

Debris-strewn streets become a wasteland of hell, symbols

Of human suffering brought about by pride and greed.

Wealthy cities, proud buildings, and gardens laid to seed.

This is a pestilence that spares none, trees, birds or animals!

Alas! Who are we to play the devil's role, unless

We have lost control of our senses? We have

Allowed the pestilence of madness to rob us of

Our ability to love and forgive others, and to be kind.

Unfortunately, those with power have turned into monsters!

And even as the whole world watches mutely at the fate

Of thousand others laid to waste in another place, little do

They know that even they will be sucked into the storm

Of pain, hatred, apathy and grief. Fools close their eyes

When approached by danger like pigeons before a cat.