It matters not their race
It matters not their creed
It maters less their politics
The air vents sharply from lungs
With every breath there is dust
Silence is now their world
A blackness their kingdom
By the minute the cold hand of death squeezes
A thought of family is a comfort
How long this entombment
Hours, days or weeks
There is no means of knowing
Are they awake, are they dreaming?
No way to tell in this velvet blackness
A tear rolls upon the cheek
Is it a tear for themselves?
Or for the ones they will leave behind
The breathing is heavy now
Laboured and hurting
Death has opened the door
Who knows why the quake
Who knows how the dead are chosen
Tis no comfort to know they are one of thousands
Then a voice, no just imagination
But wait, there again
Will they be in time?
Will that feeble beating heart succumb?
A chink of light, a groping hand
One life, one soul, free at last