The Scab

In the face of mindless malice
This city shrugs, again.
Outrage, intrigue, blame, concern
Vivisected per usual, through a dull ache

Networks light up, with concern, with baying
Martyrdom is on the departed bestowed
The accused accursed, the vehemence ever growing
For pundits and experts with brows furrowed

Who was warned? Who is to blame?
Who was the sod who felt such hate?
Who got there first? Who got away?
Who wasn't lucky, and you, sir - what say?

Spare a moment here, I beg
Not in memoriam, nor lofty praise

For those quiet heroes, mostly unsung
Those that have no flag to raise

She who didn't flinch, despite herself,
Though she was facing geysers of blood.
He who carried to safety an injured stranger,
Through the debris, the chaos, the mud.

Here is to those whose very first thought,
Wasn't for their own, but for those who couldn't run.
Here is to those duty-bound,
Not by what should have, but what now must be done.

Acknowledgement then, a nod of the head
For all our wounding, they were the scab
In the face of a calculated, nefarious design
These were our saviors, who but seldom brag

Any time now, soon, in days if not hours
We will move on, our focus diverted
This wound shall heal; for that is our lot
The scab falls away; order is asserted.

It will be easy then, to note only the scar
The interruption in living, the eddy in the flow
But lets not forget the humble scab,
These people, tireless, still make the current go!

(a reaction in verse to the twin blasts that shook Hyderabad on 21 February, 2013)