A fire: A poem 

A fire in my apartment block 

Left me as white-faced as chalk 

Outside, I braved the cold and rainy night 

The dark but febrile sky was alight 

The sirens of fire-brigades the acrid air smote 

I had nothing on me but my clothes 

Restless and sleepless, I walked the street 

The assurances of cops were but empty stalks of wheat 

To live so precariously in the clutches of fate 

That the chances of death can never be late 

Back safe in my home the very next day 

An arsonist’s whim the news did say 

I reminded myself of every little blessing 

We write them off when grief overwhelms within 

But to take pride in our possessions and belongings 

Adds up to nothing when the alarms of destiny ring 

Yet, rabid is the single torch flung in violence 

That leaves so much of civilisation ravaged in silence