In Death With Love

Partly inspired from an assignment.

Whilst perusing the specials of the New York Times
as per-request, a response to write

on an interesting article that I should find,
rather quickly, it caught my eye;
“In Love With Death”, the title read
and a strange chill crept up my spine,

as I scanned the article, line by line
and settled to re-immerse, again, in depth.

How hauntingly eloquent splayed the words!

A beautiful piece, in correct syntax structure �"

as further I read, the more it burned

in the pit of my stomach, like acid, it spread

and grew to a single quote with a mind of its own,

and wormed its way into my soul:

“How to resist falling in love with death
was the question,” a woman had said.
A poisonous snake I readily agreed,

the modern-day apple, offered to Eve.

The ultimate temptress, for those in despair,

she taunts and toys, still playing coy

and her victims of choice are those submerged;

she, the puppeteer of their angsty heart-strings

smirks with mirth as she watches them sink.

There lay the souls who'd lost too much

to reclaim, and regain, reforge and rebuff,

companions in death, regardless of life �"

styles before, with more to join, devoid of love.

Some had lost it all at once, in the form of

life savings and bank fund trusts;

others in the shape of love, dearly departed �"

vibrant lives snuffed, under buildings, crushed,

beneath massive amounts of debris and dust.

Some had their dignities steadily stripped,

by angry mobs, mistrust-infused.

Retaliation, so acute-ly assumed

by oblivious people, unfalteringly obtuse:

Those who don't look like us, are obviously the enemy!
We take no prisoners. They don't have the right to BE

in OUR country (never mind that we sailed here, too)
These foreigners MUST LEAVE.

That day, reality struck me in the face.
Full-force, my first dose, I recoiled. In its wake

was left a bitter residue, and an unforgettable taste �"

that of a sense of impending doom.

Sure enough, the days that passed

erased acceptance, trace-by-trace

and when I thought all hope to fade,

written there, on that page

were words of fighting, loving souls

that sought to share, instead of shame;

souls that renewed my hope

that one day, we “aliens” might have a chance
to not be struck with offense at the first glance.

Even in reality, are there people who give generously �"

who love enough to perform the ultimate sacrifice �" that of their own lives.
If in that fact, we cannot find our inspiration to strive and give

so little as ourselves on stage, what use have we

to anyone (especially our selves) in this day and age?

As I contemplated this, I resolved

to be less self-involved,

and give in to vulnerability.