THE AWFUL QUAKE
M. G. NARASIMHA MURTHY
Sliding stealthily
The pale moon lingered
Behind the portentous cloud
That hung above the gloomy earth.
Nothing stirred;
No noise was heard
Except the beetle’s drone.
When, all of a sudden,
A strange, subterranean thunder
The earth’s bowels tore.
Pierced the ominous calm
And shook the slumbering towns
With a hideous roar.
Stately towers and humble homes
Convulsed and crumbled
Behind clouds of dust and
smoke.
Wails and moans and screams and groans
Rent the midnight air.
Men and women, mangled and maimed,
Orphaned children, battered and bruised,
Crawled from the gaping jaws of Death,
Their erstwhile homes,
Now their graves streaked with blood.
An awful spectacle
Of centuries of history
Of Man's tireless endeavour
And all his glorious victory
Over Nature’s superhuman power
Shattered at one fell stroke!
A cruel moment
In Nature’s relentless march
Of endless events.
A groaning heap of ruined
hope.
For generations to stand and stare!