A Line of Red Ants

A warm sunny morning-

bright and clear…

soft breeze tickling the greens

birds busy chirping and

collecting twigs for their nests…

And then,

all of a sudden

the ground shook…

the giant structures

standing tall and proud

started caving in,

one by one.

Birds flew away,

twigs firmly encased in resolute beaks.

Sky got littered

with dusty clouds

Sun, red faced

looked on-

as everything that once had

-a meaning

-a life,

turned into debris.

Buried within the debris

were fast beating hearts.

Gasping, for breath…

Waiting, for a firm hand,

of rescue

of reassurance-

hands that grappled

to reach the intended quarters.

The heartbeats grew faster-

and faster,

and faster,

and finally …

gradually…

accepted the impending

inevitable doom-

giving in.

Ceasing completely –

No movement.

No breath.

Hope dead.

Bit by bit.

Within the debris

lives -

became corps

homes-

stacks of fallen bricks

and cheap mortar,

structures,

that defied

rules of safety

and brought upon themselves-

the doom,

death,

destruction.

A tragedy

complete with tapering of

remorse and scrutiny.

Both casualty and survival

explained in statistics-

Nouns became numeric,

proper stacked in common-

Every reference in third person-

distant and detached.

Within the debris

with individuals,

was buried individuality-

giving way to a common pool

of destruction.

A deadly dance of destiny.

Destiny?

And,

amidst this chaos and devastation

a line of disciplined battalion

focused and resolute,

balancing little pieces of survival

with precarious tiny arms,

dedicatedly marching ahead,

unidirectional-

towards the debris-

to make it their home,

their shelter-

A line of little red ants.