The Breaking Point

By Lynn Ockersz

Having settled for a long, painful wait,

The mother of three joins the winding queue,

The one that’s been there for kerosine,

Even before the dawning of the day,

But the mid-day sky is already ablaze,

And those feeble and faint with waiting,

Are yet to have their prized can of kerosene,

The magic fuel that lights-up humble hearths,

And gives the slaving class their morsel of rice,

That basic minimum that keeps riots at bay,

And gives the master class some breathing space,

But the pain mounts in the mother’s breast,

And everything around her melts into a haze,

‘If only I could see my babies one more time’,

She says amid her world’s fast-spreading darkness.