Our yesteryear’s dreams become today’s nightmares.
We shriek; our voices gruff with bitterness 
Our hearts heavy with anxiety
We bleed from within
Unwilling to acknowledge our mortality

We fiddle with our dreams
Hope with our hearts and
Pray with our souls 

Granny picks up the shards 
Of her wrecked shack
Too numb to react
Too helpless to rebuild

Kwashiokered grandchild 
Plays in the grimy bath water
Mucus dripping down his nose
Apathetic to the obliteration

The lunch hour muezzin sounds
Jolting this population back from their delusion
Where, even, for a little while,
They escape the pangs of this vulgar obliteration 
That has left them naked and fraught 

Above the murky heavens
The vultures return to claim their carcass