The world has lost its’ colour
All specks of brilliance lost
Dare say, buried.
When did I begin to forget my neighbour?
“Every man for himself”, say most
Kindness hid.
One block down, my neighbour yearns
Surrounded with pieces
Barely enough to keep the last child breathing.
The observer hears:
Comfort may fade tomorrow
The last child would make a feasting.
But while his world seemed lustreless
As his shoulders slouched hollow,
His heart was made befitting.
This one would splash the world some colour
Strokes of love and compassion burst
Pushing the greys of self beyond buried.
Memoirs in Coal 