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Mundane Death Toll


“Why does it throb?”
“What? The heart?”
“No. It’s this strange head.
The heart keeps me alive
But the throbbing head
And the horrible thoughts-
They are killing me.”
The fowl stench,
The charred bodies
Scattered in bits and pieces,
The blood gone black-
Parts of humanity
Or humanity that used to be?
Blasted down to oblivion.
Another group of people
Dead like so many before.
Adding to the never-ending list
Of names that cease to be names anymore.
Numbers maybe.
Another camouflaged figure
Of some two hundred or so-
Lost in a moment, forgotten in a day.
What difference does it make?
Some more dead, many more alive-
Visiting new malls, dressing up like dolls,
Clicking some cute pictures,
Uploading videos of fun and frolic,
Praising a friend’s pretty or hot look-
In person or on Facebook.
Horrid rituals of shallow mirth.
Some hearts never shook
While the news channels sold the bites.
Death piled over death,
Money piled over money…
But life went on
In search of an elusive harmony.
“Why does it throb?”
“What? The heart?”
“No baby. It’s my stupid head.
Give me some coffee and bread
And let me throw
This newspaper off our bed.” 

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