In thrall to stress
In mists of pain
One's mind seeks moral compromise
To reason and to agonise
As – in one's heart –
The questions start
Midst vales of bitter tears we cry
We search for answers
Asking – Why?
Why the flotsam?
Why the dirt?
Why – the inner sense of hurt?
The blemishes – on tattered page
The scars of toil
The bruise of age
The empty dams and dried-up streams
The futile hopes
The shattered dreams
Like sterile links in mortal chain
Or scattered chaff from winnowed grain
From dust to dust
One lives – to die
The Ages pass
The Seasons fly
A Generation comes and goes
And seeks the answers no-one knows
How did so grim a catalogue of woes begin?
No answer – to such questions – found
In scorching sun
On barren ground
In whitening bones of beast or man
In waning zeal or ruined plan
In helpless plea
In desperate prayer – as drowning fingers clutch the air
In birthing pains
In still-born fruit
In noxious stains of ill repute
No solution comes to mind
To ease the plight of deaf or blind
To stem the tears of orphaned child
To mend the hurt in one reviled
To wipe debt clean from any slate
Or rebuild lives destroyed by hate
Or renew faith
Or restore trust
So – Crumbling lives return to dust
And grieving starts
As – broken hearts
When tempted more than one can bear
(To who knows what or where?)
How did such pain?
How did such stress come forth from former nothingness?
[Originally entitled:- “A CATALOGUE of WOES.”]