Doomsday Poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam

Every time our homes

Catch fire or are set ablaze

Even as we sleep

So many die

As they lie dreaming,

The favourite clothes

More looked at

Than worn

Are reduced to rags,

Savings, ration and voter cards,

Proof of our existence

Are swallowed by the flames,

Already on the streets

Barely hidden from eyes

By the thatched walls

We are on the streets yet again

In the dead of night

Even the hovels taken away,

Yet you tell us

Those who have died and died

So many times

And risen from the grave

Again and again

That Doomsday is near.