Death Foretold

Lightning,

in those days, was

God’s unmetered stanzas about rain –

rebirth, fruition, fertility –

with some of us

delicately holding out

the parched hands to

touch the poems,

wherein,

metaphors sailed like similes.

 

These days,

there’s

an over-abundance of poetry

(if it is so)

the images inundate us.

We fail to decipher anything

at all –

the way things held too close

seel blurred.

We struggle to hold

the sewerage under our noses.

 

Lightning in the sky is death foretold.