Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Scarcely a Shortage

What does it take for something to be baptized a
crisis?

Flies swarming over decomposing bodies lying forgotten on
street corners?

Desperate men with hollowed eyes and hungry hearts holding knives, khukris, to access food, safety, medicines?

Smoke so thick you can see it from Darjeeling from wood heating hands,  stomachs?

Walking for hours in subzeroes for a job you may lose and with feet heavy from dying patience?

Hiding under all the clothes you call yours on a night as cold as this?
no entry across the border
no fuel
no electricity
no heat

What will it take for this to be baptized a crisis?

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