I hardly read the news. Yes, that’s my confession. However, I am on medical leave today, and had to go to the doctor’s to get a medical certificate. While waiting, I flipped the papers and there was a picture that caught my eye. A hand, blackened with soot, escapes the cover draped over the body of one of the victims of a mining accident somewhere in China, with two people crying over it. I’ve composed a haiku about it:
No choice did he make
Coal mining his path to take
Death awaits him since.
I’m currently reading Haroun and the Sea of Stories, which probably explains the whole poetry thing. It’s whimsical and poetic in its own way, with many references to pop culture and foreign languages. Times like this, I am glad that I learned French and listen to The Beatles.