In the corner are bodies that gradually vanishing.
Traversing the road that will soon resemble a sea.
There is a figure of an eye at the northern peak.
It is dark but quiet.
The wailing seems to be imminent.
This afternoon is no different from the past ones.
Yet the fools remain unmoved.
They won’t leave the land they grew up on,
because it’s their refuge.
Even if they go, they’d still come back.
They said they would rest here,
even if the land becomes black.
On the other hand, the wave is rising like a kite,
like monster in its strength.
The call is for some to seek refuge on the roof.
But deaf.
Perhaps due to clamor and lament.
Underneath the water are eyes wide open.
Their footing is on each other, as they search for help.
Knees huddled on top of the metal roof,
and their senses numbed by the cold.
Indeed, the afternoon is no different from the past ones.
However still,
they will just row if the sea covers the ground.