Doomsday

Every time our homes
Catch fire or are set ablaze
Even as we sleep
So many die
As they lie dreaming,
The favourite clothes
More looked at
Than worn
Are reduced to rags,
Savings, ration and voter cards,
Proof of our existence
Are swallowed by the flames,
Already on the streets
Barely hidden from eyes
By the thatched walls
We are on the streets yet again
In the dead of night
Even the hovels taken away,
Yet you tell us
Those who have died and died
So many times
And risen from the grave
Again and again
That Doomsday is near.