My heart breaks into tiny sharp pieces
When I see the morgue vans queuing for hours
Outside crematoriums…imagine, just imagine
Being one of the drivers
He must wonder if, or when
He may be the cold passenger…
He may not even be lucky enough to make it there
Like so many, the pavement could be his ending.
My skin no longer feels like mine
For there is death in the air
The Indian summers of the past seem mellow
Compared to the heat today,
The very air we now breathe
Is mixed with the smoke from funeral pyres
It is ironic that we breathe the remains
Of those who have died because they couldn’t breathe.
My Delhi is gasping for oxygen but it’s in short supply.
I’ve never felt this small in my life
As I earth these big prayers for my India
For the lakhs of Covid cases found every day
For the thousands dying each day,
For the crumbling healthcare system,
For children going hungry at night,
For our burning forests in the hills,
For our leaders who are overwhelmed,
For some who just don’t seem to care,
For your children who are like a speck of dirt in this
enormous country.
Kyrie Eleison - Lord, have mercy!
May the ashes from the funeral pyres turn to crown of beauty
May you release waves of healing across this land.
No comments:
Post a Comment