There isn’t any safety.
Particles colliding randomly.
I can only see a story through a microscope.
It’s just me,
Of smoke smelling like rubber tires.
And here I was lying in a puddle of sweetness.
My only paperback friends.
Buried under Ash.
Black water seeps through you
“And don’t you forget the plants!”
Even the trees are depressed today.
We lost our Summer-child.
A season of Abortions.
Those Mango trees have Fetuses sleeping in them.
I sleep on a hard bed now.
The weight of the world on my back,
And here I am feeling light.
I own nothing.
And I sleep in perfect silence.
(C) A.R. Minhas