How quickly we forget
That "DING DONG THE WICKED WITCH IS DEAD!"
Sauntering clumsily back into our lives
With embellishment and fluidity.
The stinging of the desert sands
And the scorching of the obscured veiled eyes
Flailing the sandstorm into submission
A sanctimonious manhunt
Narrowed by the years
What have we learned about VENGEANCE?
Is it mine?
The teacher proclaims "namaste,"
Rolling up her mat.
Will there be a NAMASTE?
A day of devotion and reverential salutation,
Or will we devour the pious with our own grim servitude
Taking up our mats
Will we follow?
Are the twofold turrets forgotten?
Another blip on the screen of radar
Crumbling in the dust.
The ashes and soot of tears
The onlookers viewing their demise
Each step carefully orchestrated
With precision and grace.
Concealing their grins
By a shroud.