Every time our homes <br /> <br />Catch fire or are set ablaze <br /> <br />Even as we sleep <br /> <br />So many die <br /> <br />As they lie dreaming, <br /> <br />The favourite clothes <br /> <br />More looked at <br /> <br />Than worn <br /> <br />Are reduced to rags, <br /> <br />Savings, ration and voter cards, <br /> <br />Proof of our existence <br /> <br />Are swallowed by the flames, <br /> <br />Already on the streets <br /> <br />Barely hidden from eyes <br /> <br />By the thatched walls <br /> <br />We are on the streets yet again <br /> <br />In the dead of night <br /> <br />Even the hovels taken away, <br /> <br />Yet you tell us <br /> <br />Those who have died and died <br /> <br />So many times <br /> <br />And risen from the grave <br /> <br />Again and again <br /> <br />That Doomsday is near.<br /><br />Prabhakar Subramaniam<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/doomsday-8/
