the library is full of people..and me…
some of these days are so bright
that they print all washed out
in my memory.
After echoes of a hungry heart deafen my eardrums
today was an uncanny unbearable lull.
Absolutely dysfunctional with no new words
only reflections of some older ones unspoken.
I was walking down the streets,mumbling words
from some past conversations,smiling..
the day it does not give you an account
of whether it was happy in substance or
subliminal in its relentless pursuit.
What is a happy day?
I saw a picture of a Syrian boy stained in blood,
victim of a political war;this child
and then an old man
who has been building a helicopter
out of spare parts.
My friend thinks
I write a lot…
I don’t know what else to do