Day 4: A New Hope

As the setting sun
coloured the sky
from blue to orange,
the boy touched
his little sister
on the arm,
letting her know
it would be dark soon.

And as the sky
changed colours
from orange to purple,
the children headed back
to their assigned shelter,
shielding their noses
from the stench of death,
looking away from
the corpses, recognising
their dead neighbors
who were alive just days ago.

And as the sky darkened
from purple to black,
the boy and his sister
reached their home
─their temporary
roof of thatch and
waterlogged lumber─
shared with a thousand
other refugees, grumbling
stomachs silenced by
very meager dinner rations
enjoyed under the yellow glow
of candlelight and gas lamps.

And as the night sky exploded
into a thousand celestial lights,
the boy and his sister
found a small patch of grass,
where they lay down,
hugged each other,
and cried,
as every star in the heavens
twinkled with the reassurance
that tomorrow would bring
a new day, and
a new hope.

15 Nov 2013

Sting Lacson

A writer. By degree and by profession. Also strongly advocates ten-finger typing to all writers because that's what you do for a living, so be efficient at it.

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My Literary Side

"The Words come from the Divine; from the Muse the Idea. The Poet merely transcribes." ┼Old Sumerian proverb

(Kidding, I made that up. LOL)