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A volcano erupts

I started writing Volcanoes in 2017, after a hiatus of seven years of not writing any new poems. During that time, friends and acquaintances sometimes would ask me, Have you written any new poems? I’d say, No. Then they would look at me, aghast. I could almost hear them thinking, You’re a poet, you should be writing every day. Well, I have to say that not writing didn’t bother me at all. Actually, I was feeling relieved of not having to get up in the middle of the night with the Muse ordering me to write some new lines on the nearest piece of paper she could find. She didn’t care if I lost any sleep, hehehe. But yes, I got back to the drawing board. And quite an explosion it was!

Photo by Yosh Ginsu on Unsplash

Erupt they will,

like Krakatoa exploded over Indonesia

and Mount Vesuvius blasted away Pompeii.


Cracked open wide,

volcanoes speak with fury, lava, smoke,

exposing explosive truths, dishonest debris.


Eruptions launch

earthquakes, tsunamis, revelations,

affirming a seismic, urgent shift in us all.


Earth will burn,

Vulcan, god of volcanoes roars, and

seething blood will boil for days and nights on end.


Worlds will change,

young Bolsheviks, Blacks, and French Revolutionaries chant, 

their jawbones groaning aloud in countless tongues.


Long-held secrets

will soon be ripped to shreds in the streets,

halls of power, and hideouts of tyrants.


The Earth Mother

fiercely rises with seers, artists, 

and icons as Gandhi, King, Mandela, forging ahead.


Erupt will all,

as hell-bent scientists, workers, students,

multitudes, continents, and worlds of rage most certainly will.


The truth will out,

the Elders cry, raising the soul of the land,

and Mankind, battered and shaken, finally listens.