So high and loud were the screams
At the point of confusion
Many would wish the tension
Was another scary dream.
None cared about documents
The snails became good runners
The chubbies flew like feathers
Choosing breath over wealth.
Dead were the words, wait or freeze
No one cared about naked breasts
Nor for the other ragged dress;
Some forgot their tender kids.
It was dark, though not past ten
At large, no shoes and no socks
So did those with age of rocks
The sick borrowed extra legs.
Gate was slammed with great intense
Multitudes flee from Estate
Leaving the block to its fate
No remorse, and no conscience.
A potential disaster
More than the Devil can chew
Over the roof the fire grew
Even the kids were sprinters
Who wouldn’t run when co-tenant
Whose roof feared to be burning
Were seen halter-scattering
To anywhere but not their tent.
From the point eyes made a frame
No hero nor firefighters
No sands, nor extinguishers
Could put off such thick dark flame.
The overwhelming stampede
Was more like defeat concede
And you wouldn’t comprehend
The things running in our heads.
It wasn’t our blocks on fire,
To send fire in particles
From our harbors and vessels
Aided by winds, fuel and tires.
Approaching the burning flame
Were only a few of us
Whose bravery I didn’t trust
We discovered in our shame….
That accross the estate’s fence
A tall tree, and not the roof
Was on fire, putting it off,
We laughed; but it was intense.
e-Paper Poetry of Vinx 