THE KIDS SOMERSAULTED on the carpet green grass,
digging holes in fresh mud with plastic spade,
Whirling flying saucers that went whizzing past the
blueberry tree,
Yelling at full capacity of lung whilst playing games
of red Indian.
The housewife bustled through interiors of the
kitchen,
Singing favorite notes of Egyptian music,
Chopping pieces of meat with immaculate ease,
Dispatching rotten eggs to safe enclosures of the
dustbin,
Preparing appetizing meals of corn with slices of cold
meat.
He had reason to be a proud man,
Years of strife before he climbed the ladders of
success,
Now bestowed with a blissful little family,
He paced through corridors of the large balcony with
the newly born child in his
arms.
All seemed to be going well,
He seemed to have struck a balance between work and
perennial fortune,
Before he attended the shrill ringing of the punch
button telephone,
A hoarse voice croaked, then burst into guffaws of
laughter,
Informing him of death fast approaching,
As several bombs were activated in the red sedan,
Which now sped out of the driveway, carrying his twin
children and wife.
He ran like never before, screamed at the top of his
nerve wrecked voice,
Tall legs transporting him outside in flash seconds of
time,
But for once destiny had played a cruel joke,
There occurred an earth shattering explosion,
Amber balls of fire emanated with smoke,
Pieces of car seat plummeted high in the sky,
The car spun several revolutions before settling on
the ground,
He ran to the scene with premature tears welling up
his eyes,
To witness the carcass of his family,
Triggered by the brutally inhuman Bomb blastÂ
Nikhil Parekh
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bomb-blast-4/
