Not After, But Before

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We wake to grief, not warnings heard,
When silence shatters with a final word.
Another life, a whispered name—
A headline, searing ash and flame.

A child's bright play, now street's dark loss,
Where wild dogs prowl, their teeth like moss.
A mother weeps by open grave,
Her fierce love powerless to save.

The roads lie cracked, the wires hang bare,
A manhole gapes, a sudden snare.
One careless step, the world goes black—
Yet, who dares think to ever look back?

Hospitals, where hope should bloom,
Now healing hands deliver doom.
A hurried prick, a missed alarm,
Life stripped to lasting, bitter harm.

Why do we stir after the fall?
Why wait for blood to stain the wall?
Why must a soul be torn apart
To finally kick a system's start?

But here's the truth, stark, hard, and deep:
The watchful eye, the promises to keep.
For when we see, yet turn away,
Our very silence makes us pay.

Where is the eye that sees the threat,
The danger lurking, un-met?
Where is the voice that screams to warn,
Before the world is bleak and worn?

We cannot build on ash and bone.
We cannot leave the cries alone.
Each broken life, a mirror, clear—
Do we not bleed the same as here?

This is no whisper, but a shout,
To rip the veil from fear and doubt!
No more should lives be counted low,
Just lessons learned in bitter woe.

Let duty rise, not chase the fire.
Let justice act, lift purpose higher.
For dreams are real, and breath is brief—
Let the fix arrive before the grief.

So let the dawn of wisdom gleam,
No longer bound by a tragic dream.
Let empathy guide, let foresight bloom,
And banish sorrow from life's sweet room

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