Crisis

[The poem was formerly published with Authspot ]

Just let the day pass,

and let the moon rest,

in the night's lap.

To give you hopes,

of thousands of stars.

The day will take away with it,

the rain and flaming sun.

Your bread might be wet,

from the lack of roof.

Your hearth might be damp,

and there might only be smoke.

Your children might scream in-

the sermon of hunger;

in its metamorphosis:

void in front of the eye holes.

And your wife's breasts might stick to bone,

as if your husband's time has gone.

Then you are about to have -

a gleam of truth;

It lacks that last bit of potion,

to save some lives: love;

the invaluable currency.

The world has gone crazy in growth!

Let the day pass.