When No One Is Left

After every grotesquery, myriad questions spring to the lips.
Will wobbly feet once again get a resilient surefootedness?
Will one still feel a glorious surge of early morning happiness?
Or sense all the kindly intimacies of life coming back in a flood?

Will the morning throb with heady promises and warm feelings, still?
Will the trilling of birds be filled with sardonic irony or a euphony, still?

When terror becomes a way of life
And hatred an ideology much followed
When the jangling discords of animosity echo in calloused ears
And none can soothe those burgeoning fears
With Bob Dylan, I wonder

“Yes, ’n’ how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, ’n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.”

When will we hearken to the answer blowing in the wind?
When?
When there is no one left to kill
Will the morning birds trill, still?
Will bountiful nature still soothe and heal and bless
When no one is left?
Will the blackbird still add his golden baritone to the tenor of the thrush
When no one is left?
Who will listen to the joyous melody of Mozart
When no one is left?
Will the frisky squirrel still slither up the tree
When no one is left?
Or crawl along like a haggard dream
When no one is left?

( This poem was a result of what happened on WESTMINSTER BRIDGE on 22 MARCH 2017 )

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About Santosh

An educationist with a passion for writing , having published some novels for young adults, some essays and some poems. My poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi will soon be published .

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