While my city grieves for its sudden loss and tries to cope, I distract myself by putting together a magnetic poem on the fridge.
Wedged between the bin and the door, I slave to put some words together; Mr R goes off to sleep, probably bemused by my sudden determination to make poetry at this hour. It’s almost midnight.
Almost five hours since I heard the news about the blasts and I still can’t get over it. I dare not switch the TV on, knowing I’ll be confronted by the same images on NDTV, Star News and Rajdeep Sardesai on CNN. I think about those I know, who are safe and those I’m not sure of. And I keep thinking ‘ I could have been on one of those trains’ (Not likely at that early hour, but still…)
Star News keeps harping on the 11/7 coincidence – 7 blasts in 11 minutes (now we know there were eight…but never mind).
I hope that nobody from my ex-work place was hurt. And I feel overwhelmed at the sheer numbers that have died.
From Shoefie’s blog, here’s a link to this fantastic online effort to help MW’s. This is what I call ‘making a difference’. You rock, guys.