Liquid gold – in memory of Sinai fire and such other tragedies.

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Hungry. Angry. Broken. Forgotten.
Their faces, resigned and tired,
Show their poverty and sufferings.
Their hearts lost hope long ago,
Their ambition is to get work for today.
God will take care of tomorrow,
That’s what those who still believe in him think.
They sit, waiting for the next deal.
Work is scarce;
Early in the morning they were at the industries
But the vacancies for today as every day were few.
Some wait for nightfall for they work at night, like night and day,
They are guards or thieves, two halves of the same coin.
One can’t exist without the other.
Then the smell comes,
And the tale of good fortune is told.
Liquid gold is to be found.
Jerricans and bottles quickly gathered.
There’s a scramble to get to the treasure,
Liquid gold equals money, and money equals food, rent and for some alcohol.
They hustle to get some; this is a chance in a lifetime.
Then in the blink of an eye a spark makes love to the liquid gold.
Fire, hot as hell bursts into flames.
In instant skins, bones melt.
Pain so excruciating is felt as heat passes through tissues.
For some death is instant,
A blessing somewhat as pain only lasts for minutes.
For some pain continues as they fall, in agony.
Rescue comes but it is too late.
Liquid gold has left its mark.
A village falls to sounds of mourning as it wails over its dead and dying.
Today was supposed to be an ordinary day.
But death on his pale horse decided to pay a visit.
Smoke, half burnt timbers and iron sheets tell a tale of woe.
The stench of death is in the air.
Heartbreak, broken dreams and broken homes,
Will be the outcome of chasing liquid gold.

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