The sky was hungry,
Furious at a little man,
Whose promises came undone.
And so the sky rained,
It catered for itself,
A platter of demolition,
With a spice of smoke.
I hear that the little man dwindled,
Stumbled, starved, fled in terror,
Believing he was a doltish rage’s victim.
I hear he masked a brave face,
And implored the ‘gods’
To succour against the sky.
I hear the gods couldn’t choose what to do.
I still hear,
That the sky,
And the men,
I don’t suppose my whining words,
Will content the sky’s hunger,
Nor undo the ruins the men face,
I wish I didn’t pen this at all,
Because what do I even know?
Lawyers and armies,
What do I know of their vendettas?
Bombs and guns,
What do I know of their ramifications?
Betrayed, I have hardly been,
Fear, they hide from me what it means,
Don’t bother calling me naive,
I am aware I have seen little.
We are fond of tales are we not? Sky’s wrath upon man.
So many versions of this latest story.
You might ve heard differently than me.
I have seen little, but I hear so much.
How do I know, what’s unreal or real?
Like a fool I believe, this is just how order of things are.
How things must be.
Where millions die and millions come to life every day.
And we just deal with it.
Life is unfair, but this is the life we created.
Where power over the present and future lies on leaders stuck in the past.
I think whatever more I think is best not told.
Cause honestly, what do I even know?