Death touched me. Black sweeping and crushing in the final moments, ironically a source of comfort as it scooped up weary souls.
It was death that narrated the journey of the book thief, the main character in the number one international best seller The Book Thief, written about living and dying through the Holocaust. The Book Thief is one of the most creative and compelling books I have ever read. The harrowing and painful demise of so many people almost sounds poetic when death finally rescues them. Only Markus Zusak could write like that.
I am thinking about Zusak’s brilliant voice as I reflect on the devastating floods, cyclones and bushfires ravaging our wide brown land. Was death a comfort to those people lost in the treacherous waters? Did death gather them, give them peace and support in their hour of need? I’d like to think that those terror stricken faces were embraced and comforted as they were taken away.
I dedicate this reflection to all the people washed under one very sad day in Queensland (and Brazil.)
You Came
You came here as a torrent,
And took my home away.
You ripped my child from my arms.
Your strength could not be matched.
Rapids of muddied debris,
hurtling down the street.
Buildings, cars and tanks now weightless,
As they were tossed in your treacherous jaws
Rivers, creeks, dams cascading into one
deadly body of water.
Swamping towns, swallowing animals,
Drowning and dragging us under.
The sky then had the audacity to suddenly
be clear and blue.
For some, the water yet to peak,
Lapping at their toes.
Rising, rising, rising.
The local pub,
Now the community hub.
Strangers resting wearily on each other.
You snatched, destroyed and burst onto our land.
You Came.
Yet our spirit will not be broken.
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