Once more, an anvil-headed cloud of shame
Has clung to our national skies.
With this monumental tragedy, alas,
Another wasteful-chapter 's opened, sorely,
Into our past bunked infamously
And in one baffling collapse
A still-in-the-works guest house six floors high
Came fatally down with an ease
Of a tower of cards blown-over by puniest of wind.
Trapping innumerable workmen and travelling
Worshippers from far and near.
I saw a nation stunned;
A city alarmed,
And a community bewildered.
I can see women and children
Panicked in tears helter-skelter ran.
Men, still, gazed-up in disbelief;
And their breath in horror held.
I can hear terror-stricken souls dying
In subdued groans and sos's screams rippled
Through squatter pose
Of twisted piercing rods
And mountain crater of mangled slabs
And bricks and splintered glasses.
Then, I saw the president
And the governor stand sobered seemed
Almost bore to tears inspecting in daylight
These grim ruins, yet, bet I more
In a nosey frenzy to their trade,
By the leonine-gate of such a faith city
And along its Hadrian walls,
Motley crowd of pen-pushers converge
Slunk for truthful autopsies
To breaking theatre of an ink-worthy calamity
Like a fat carrion, shrieking vultures' savour.
And last sorry so,
In our true-to-type-nature.
I saw a snail-paced disconcerted line
Of rescuers stroll through walls
Of setbacks and obstacles..
The constant erects of state and citizens
And now faithful scoans do some reports.
Miraculous tales circulated of few
Who walked off the wrecks alive days after.
At the last count over a hundred
Precious souls stampeded to their doom. No,
Martyred, apologies to a pandering prophet.
But not in everlasting stretch
Of my imagination,
In the famed hallowed synagogue's confines
Shepherded by a prophet so miraculous legerdemain,
Where are fed faithful on sacraments
Of Godly protection and miracles
Should such a monstrous disaster befall
Totally unforeseen in the tradition
Of its founder kept. Is this
A case Sir, of misplaced
Or blurred spiritual periscope?
Something must be done presently.
While never our grace to will
The how, when and where
Of our deaths. Yet to our avail is
But to expect by the second such hour
Now to the dead, from first to last,
My sincere grief and tears
And parting condolences as you crossed
To abodes of your kinds beyond.