Grenfell’s Silent Cry

On a quiet June night in 2017.
A flame was born where life had been serene.
A spark, a fault, a deadly chain,
Unleashed a fury, relentless flame.

The tower stood in North Kensington’s heart,
A home for many, a community’s part.
But its walls, clad in greed and disdain,
Became a pyre of unspeakable pain.

Combustible foam, a silent betrayer,
Cheap cladding wrapped like a heartless layer.
Safety ignored, corners cruelly cut,

By hands that chose profit, left lives in the rut.

Seventy-two souls, their dreams now dust,
Gone in a blaze fed by broken trust. Mothers, fathers, children small,
Lost to a fire that should not have claimed them all.

And the council, the landlords, the government’s gaze. Blind to the warnings, deaf to the blaze.
Austerity’s shadow, a fatal choice,

Their cries ignored, their silenced voice. Grenfell burned for sixty hours,
A monument now to abused powers.
Each flame a beacon, each ember a plea,
For justice, for safety, for dignity.

In the ashes, questions rise,
Who let this happen? Who closed their eyes?
While survivors mourn, and the city weeps,
A promise lingers: their truth still keeps.

We bow our heads, we bear the shame,
For lives lost to a deadly game.
Grenfell, your memory will never depart,
A scar on the nation, etched deep in our heart.

May those we lost find peace above,
And may we learn to lead with love.
For a tower burned, a nation’s test—
To rise from this tragedy, and build our best.