Desolation

the air outside
is scorched,
burnt into existence,
unstirred,
with locusts
sprawled
on sidewalks,
pestilent,
reeking of
bewilderment,
a malady
unseen, uncured,
defiled,
painted in sorrow,
coloured
with grief…

the air inside
disintegrates,
consumed by
the thought of
the air
outside.

©Aaysid

“In my heart there’s a peaceful anguish, and my calm is made of resignation.”
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Featured image from Pexels

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