Volcano

Where is the poor man's wealth?
I shouted in a dream.
Where is the poor man's dignity?
I cried in a dream.
I saw the black smoke
blowing from the mountain's peak.
Lava, the earth's blood river
flowed everywhere.
A clergyman's hermitage
miser's money, beggar's till and prostitutes beauty
all converted to stone.
Farmers, fields, priceless graveyards
Kings, Queens, Horses, Elephants and the forest too
All had been covered with Lava.
Only the God has escaped and remained in the sky
because he is not a human being.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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