Where were you?

Where were you when the apocalypse started?
At least zombies are visible
Corona is silent.
They say the world came to a halt, 
It didn't.
It continued on cracked waves,
jolting and spilling, 
creaking towards its ports
but sometimes got abandoned. 
Everyone became poorer 
except for the rich, 
who became millionaires, fighting
for one seat on a plane 
to the moon when
that money could have 
helped thousands. And the rich countries
threw away vaccines 
because they hoarded
too many resources and had
too little heart 
to donate to lives
thrown off centre. 

They say life gets harder
as you grow up
but they failed 
to mention children know 
of the climate crisis and other 
problems that should have been 
solved by the adults who made them. 

The sea used to carry 
wind and water but when ships 
packed carelessly to the brim, 
for profit, exploded,
dead fish and turtles and dolphins and whales
washed up on shores
and acid crept into arteries of the land 
through rivers. Beware of acid rain, they said. 
Did it come? Did it 
go? Did it travel?

Tell me, where were you when
the end started?
How many layers 
did you live in?
How many masks 
did you take off?
How many times 
did you say you were
okay when you weren’t?
How many letters 
of the Greek alphabet 
did you learn? 

Thirangie Jayatilake is a Sri Lankan writer and editor who is interested in fiction, poetry and feature articles. She has a BA in Literature and Creative Writing from NYU, and an MA in Creative Writing, Publishing and Editing. In her free time, she likes playing with dogs, swimming. and photography. Jayatilake is Postscript Magazine’s fiction editor.

Image by Catalina Aranguren, “after party”