The Relic
(after John Donne; for Nepal)
by Mihir Vatsa
After the shock, they sat outside,
face-in-hands, not bothered
by the audacity of cameras, not bothered
as we looked for, and saw indeed,
the devastation in their eyes.
Quietly, they held on to the soil,
and after the shock, checked
the firmness of the ground
now unsure of its own merit.
Then, they excavated the graves.
Put their hands inside the concrete
and took care not to separate
the bracelet of someone’s hair
from someone else’s bone.
They took care not to disturb
the feeble harmony of accidental deaths,
and looked only for the living:
this baby, who dared to breathe
through the dust. This baby,
not yet marked safe on Facebook —
its tiny heart beating louder
than tremors that had almost
left it dead.