It isn’t late, It isn’t hard… [ a poem in memory of 9/11]

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A chilling act of sheer despise
Fire spit out in the name of sacrifice
The world stood still in utter dismay
The pillars that soared sadly fell away

An act so numbing and bereft of love
Killing thousands of poor souls & how
Young & old, some black, some white
Horror struck, manifesting it’s might

Structures built of sweat & toil
Now smelt of cold blood & human broil
What stood so tall in pride as twins
Now reduced to mere grey ash in bins

Man’s great strength had sadly turned
To create his own brethren’s end
Red with Anger, Cold with malice
Bad blood spewed, to his own disgrace

God retorted, aghast & awry
“Nay my child”, he let out a cry
“I created you, but this wasn’t why
Thou shamed my soul, O my, O my!”

“Mend your ways still, it isn’t late
Heal the pain, with love you can create
It isn’t hard, if you try with your heart
To get to love & break the shell of hate!”

So the wounded soul stood up wrought
Bruised & beaten, but not distraught
Gathering himself with all his might
Embraced the sinners with all, but hate

‘Listen, my mortal mates’ he cried
‘Do you not notice Almighty’s plight
It is time we shed our hate, and love
For, He will no longer bless, from above’

Ramesh Narasimhan/-

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