We all felt terror
escape the restless earth,
stubbornly shaking our foundations,
as if to avenge some prior offence.
Now, for generations we will remember
that we are incidental on this land.
Nature may, but we may not
see rebirth on the same plot of earth.
Precariously perched on the concrete rubble
it is time to reconnect with this Yang Earth,
as it holds parents and children, husbands and wives:
the long list and full breadth of our lives.
Humbled by this realization,
we try to stem our destruction
with aid from Good Samaritans.
But sadly we discover,
as if we hadn’t equally felt
the magnitude of the tremor,
the inequality of prosperity
survives the pulverized prefecture
to preserve the plutocracy.
For shelter and food reach the elite
before the commoners
who hunger for a bowl of rice to eat
and blue tent under which to rest
their frazzled, forlorn bones.