The Last in Utopia

A hand,
Generously given out
By a man
Whose face I could not see,
Not clearly,
For the bright sun
Silhouetted him
As if swallowing up his whole.

 

Who, equipped with a common soul,
Would dare and do so,
Amid catastrophe and hopes drowning low—
So low no one would bother and plunge down.
Illumination unseen by many eyes,
Amusement that cannot be found,
Hearts soaked up where fear lies.

But this time,
He chose to arrive.
Not in a fancy way,
But in a walk blends with the dirt,
The mud,
And the hurt.
A power greater than any tremors,
Waves and fire combined
Blew up to shaken our only earth and life.

Looking around,
The lifeless scattered,
Held,
Caressed by those who love,
Those who will love,
Those who cannot love.
I was but a slumped body
In the unvalued land.
Panting,
Trembling,
Asking
Whether this a dream or not.
If it is, then wake me up.
But I soon reckon it’s not.

He, the impossible,
Has stood in front of me—
Me, among other class—
Holding his hand out.
Trembling,
Panting,
But asking no more.
I reach for it,
Carefully,
Slowly standing up from the slump
Away from the dirt,
The mud and the hurt
And called out to fellow
All will be unharmed.

This poem was originally posted on The Broken Compasses inspired by Chad D’s encouragement to write something enlightening for the people affected by the recent earthquake in Nepal.

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Author: Danica Aquino

Tied the knot with performing arts since fourth grade; is an amateur writer (currently on her quest to writing her first novel); book and animal lover; always entranced by nature.

3 thoughts on “The Last in Utopia”

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