Waving your arms to and fro up and down, back and forth as you stand on the edge of a tropical island after a hurricane become a tsunami, wondering where to get help, if to be a helicopter, need to be scooped up and taken to dry land. Praying for rain to wet a harvest and instead drowned in a pool, a pool of quicksand, buried up to the neck in soupy sands of quick not slow, feeling the grains all over your body creeping up to your neck.
In a country a state of emergency, wondering when and where to wander, to escape great waves of the deepest of waters, to trip over sand dunes, to not know where to go or how to get out.
Losing all property, everything you owned deeply drowned too, no trace of anything you once had, all gone, drifted downstream, some upstream, some swirled around in a drain-like hole, a black hole, never to be seen again. All your family photographs gone, all your inheritance property you once cherished not in existence anymore, wondering why to live, where to live, joining the homeless who have no jobs, your job too underground not to be, to be or not to be, do we have a choice?
Asking for charity when we once gave charity, owned a mansion where now we have a pile of garbage, wondering what we did wrong who will help us. After the hype has settled down and no one will help us again, water waves still drowning no evaporation, pools of sewer water no water to drink, radioactive water, it is where you step deep.
Red Cross, Blue Shield, do you have medical insurance? Here is a sleeping bag and a lunch bag, no shelter? Make your home in a Church.
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