We do not bring good news – the land is near – but bad news, bad news only,
Disasters, damage; do you wish to live there, really?
Then please, please worry, please do,
Before it’s too late, and after too.
Crows, vultures, we live off the fear, the worry;
Doctors, we do not create the disease but merely
Keep fighting against the loss of memory,
We won’t save everyone, but the ones in front of us, maybe;
Fighting their right – their relief – to forget,
We keep reminding them of the threat.
And lives may be saved, children protected,
Adults spared the despair, the knowledge, that it could have been avoided,
The awareness creeping in their nightmares from now on,
That when the waters come in, nothing can be done,
But wait, and watch the destruction of books, pictures,
Woodworks and letters,
If not of the house,
While drowned or crushed, losing children and spouse,
Until flood-waters, storm-winds, and tremors of quake recede or stop,
The silence broken by crumbling buildings, by screams, by ringing ears at the sight of one bloody spot.
Prophets; feeling useless and unwanted,
Tired and haunted;
Crows, vultures; doctors;
Watching for mothers and fathers,
Children and lovers,
Which eyes closed and unaware,
Lie blissfully in their beds somewhere,
Guardians through their night,
Guardians of the warning light.