Scabby Lesions

At a distant place I hear a shriek
mourning people,
They are in grief,
Mother's son, father's source,
Life in sense of wife's resource,
All have dried, All have died.

No dear it is not draught
Poverty we are accustomed too,
On these things neither we cry nor do we shout.
It was just a slight tremble.
6.8 on Richter scale its impact is more than double.
It is shocking, devastating, pathetic joke, of earth on its natives.
Its people, its part, its own derivatives
Furious dance of demon on land has left us paralysed we can't even stand.

Knell has started to ring
There is a mass funeral
Funeral of hope, wishes and desires.
For someone it is funeral of reason to live.
Episode that has left them at receiving end,
Now they are unable to give.
There is a pyre all around
whole village seems to be lit.
Seeing this a tear trickles down my cheek.

A wave of annuity & fear is all around.
Frightened people scared mob.
Their happiness is being robbed
There is a stop for time being on their glee
Prosperity & health seems to flee.
People are generous in giving them money
But what they want is the hand that heels
Care and love which tastes sweet than honey.

But what for all this happen
Why did nature use this sharp weapon
Nothing folks it is a reminder
That, he is creator
He is devastator
May we reach any horizon,
If we disturb his balance
We would turn our glee into scabby lesions.