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by Atul Ranchod

We have to dig deeper
Than Norwegians and Hatians.
Both sides of the aisle

Lined pockets
Protest and shout
Disingenuous the whole lot.

Seventeen and Florida
Already preparing
For another onslaught of killing.

Twenty eighteen
Hard to believe
Our babies killing our babies.

Sharp abyss of irrecoverable pain
Until the eyes and hands
No longer can contain.

Symptom to symptom
We refuse to uncover
The cause, caught in blame.

Anguish and pain
Cannot be the norm
To see us through once again.

How deep must be the pockets lined
To allow our babies killing our babies?
Twenty-one to drink

But gone in a blink.
Weapon to take so much
So quick.

When did human life
Become so cheap?
What we sow we will reap.

How deep do the pockets
Have to be lined
To allow for these calamities to climb?

There is no solace
For the mothers and fathers
When our babies are killing our babies.

Do we want to solve this?
Or apathy and turning our heads
Caught in greed and decay.

Human being
In twenty eighteen
Where have you been?

Where are you going?
Amidst such chaos
Incumbent upon each one of us

We must dig deeper
Into our own hearts
To allow our greatness

To vanquish our madness!