The Lord has risen
On this another Sunday
Of our sorrow.
I hear bells ring
In the nearby church
I feel a slight breeze
Rustle my potted plants.
It is the day of resurrection
But death stalks the internet
Full of grim news
Of friends and acquaintances gone
As more await healing
In the house of agony.
As the Lord has risen
You think of ways
To find rebirth
Amidst the mountain
Of grief.
You have to resuscitate
Your spirit
And find strength
In growing grandchildren.
Indeed
You have to keep flying
In the open skies
Of uncertainty.
You have to revive
Faith in the morning
You have to resurrect
Optimism
For your own sake
And your loved ones.
The Lord has risen
You have to redefine
What kindness is
And what it means
To a suffering milieu.
You have to find hope
In the sea of despair.
And find solace
In your restless heart.
Resurrection
Is retracing
A good dream
Before it fades
Into the labyrinth
Of nightmare.
The Lord has risen
With it comes
The promise
Of sunrise.
** *
Fury by Pablo Perdoma
RESTLESS SUNSET
This is not the proper way
One wants to end
Another weary day.
Sunsets have become ominous
The rays from the dying sun
Are full of desperate voices
From the sick and the jobless.
Sunset has become
A furious volcano
In the brink of anger
That cannot wait for
Another day.
You are an ogre
Insisting on silencing
The people’s voice
Through your predictable
Puppet show.
Yet you have nothing to say
About regular killings
In the city and the countryside
While your lapdogs allot
Billions for retired military minions
And proceed to impeach a magistrate
For not kowtowing
To the lord and master.
This sunset ends
With new wave of desolation
With images of distraught people
Storming the heavens with prayers
for ailing relatives and friends.
Now the anxious day ends
With heartless subalterns
driving the last few nails
into the coffin of
of our discontent.
After more than 365 days
Into the restless nights,
let me say things off my chest.
You do not bring comfort
To the weary and the sick.
You don’t bring strength to people
saving lives in the dead of night.
It doesn’t help
that you are silent
about your subalterns
openly breaking the laws
while the hapless cope
with the day’s last meals.
The Virus
is the enemy.
It is alarming
to realize
you have become
the living symbol
of the dreaded scourge.
It is truly sad
when the spring of eternal hope
has turned into
A volcano
Of seething discontent.
