The only thing they wanted was to live,
And lifted up their sweet dear little heads
Parched for salvation—which I could not give,
Nor even death’s release which each one dreads.
The power to release them was not mine,
Nor I designed the trap, yet its employ
Was mine, if not by a well-wrought design,
And mine the impetus which calls, “Destroy.”
Humanity! What kind of work informs
The cruelty which flows coursing in man’s veins?
What is a man, unleashing untold harms
While yet supposing his soul free from stains?
The little creatures die—while in far-off
Hurricane-ravaged Puerto Rico, men,
Women and children suffer while I cough,
Struggle to live, some dying even then.
What machinations human mind conceives!
Experience in our methods paltry tutor.
I rail against the government, which leaves
Matters to chance, and turn on my computer.
The best that I can give is a donation,
Paltry in size, in contrast with the scope
Of the disaster: water’s, food’s privation.
For humankind I wonder, is there hope?