6.3

There's a point on my paper,
A point which cannot be touched.
There is a point on my paper,
That seems far too much.
And this point on my paper seems to fill the soul with tears.
Therefore-why is this point placed here? Why not there?

You woke up, one by five and two by one,
Shocked by the looks of poverty, rubble, sheets over the single cross,
but you had no One.
Catastrophe breaks out and all you can do is cry
Your mind becomes overfilled with questions,
you go crazy,
and begin to ask, 'Why God, Why I'.

You stumble down the rubble that once was worth so much
So much so, your thoughts begin to fluster
5 kilometres off Lytlelton, a depth of 3.3, another 10 kilometres out of touch.
You begin to collapse.
Words ejected slowly, actions taken slower.

Devastation all around,
Little solace to be found.
Innocent dolls unclaimed
families suffering, wanting objects to be named.

You hear your tears dipping into the abyss
But don't you worry with the loss and lack
Serenity remains intact
Conceding witness one more time
To the flaccidity of mankind

There was a point on my paper, a point to which could not be touched
And this point that was on my paper, seemed far too much
And now that this point on my paper, a point in time has been permanently tattooed to my heart and soul,
It will remain their forever, forever, a point that will never unfold.

Ola Al-fakhri, Year 12, Macleans College