For the Sake of Life Itself
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 16th, 2013
Call me a coward.
I didn’t tell my eight-year old
That an eight-year old died
Yesterday, standing, waiting
To cheer the people who ran.
And his father, who might have run,
But did not, on that fateful day,
Can run and run from now
Until the end of time
And never catch up.
And the beautiful child that son
Must have been (for how could he be otherwise?)
Died in mid-cheer.
He was eight years old.
He held a poster that said,
“No more hurting people. Peace.”
His name was Martin.
How can one explain such a thing
And how can one still stay intact?
For, in that moment when the world blew up
And an eight-year old flew into the air,
Becoming one with the stars and the atoms,
One broke into a million fragments.
But we carry on, for all the other
Children, who wait for us, eyes wide with trust
Believing that there are good people among us.
And we turn to them, in relief and grief.
And I turn to my beautiful
Angel-child, for the sake of love,
For the sake of all the little ones,
And for the sake of life itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~