Evening of day

It is the evening of the day
the children are indoors
learning on apps and off social media.
the street dogs await their exit from urban spaces,
the high court decreed thus.

under an umbrellaed tree
I await a fleeting rendevous – that
little pocket even the killing virus shied away from,
tiny capsules of time wrapped in a gossamer weave.

The violence and unkindness besiege the ones
the pan-virus spared.
life is dirt cheap
to those others who sit on plush chairs on high floors.

this top-down effect is lethal and brutal,
permeates all society and makes us all want
to be gruesome gods spitting down on low humans.
and in god’s name, we inflict death on the other,
the other that look like us and the same god-made.

it is the evening of another day
the little pocket of gossamer niceness is just
the echoing of my own many voices
it screams it cries, it bellows, it whimpers.
solace is a far cry in a distant twilight
I sit and watch the tears go by