Kutch, January 2001 by Farida Rangwala
A misty winter morning,
The cups filled with warmth
Waiting to be gulped,
The giggles floating in the air
Under a happy roof,
And suddenly the table turned,
The pans and pots rushed to clang,
The doors and windows creaked,
While moving back and forth,
The crockery crashed to pieces,
The chairs and tables quivered,
For the floor, they rested on,
Began to tremble,
The dreaded eyes,
Looked at the roof,
Shaking the fan and the chandelier,
The shivering hands struggled to
Hold their prayers in their clenched fists.
The ears were full,
With the thuds and screams,
Travelling from across the shuddering walls.
Within a moment,
There was a still,
The silence of havoc took over the place,
The cries were buried
Under the ruins that mourned with helplessness.
Mother Earth had hushed the life to sleep,
In the lap of destruction.