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.

𝙰𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕
𝚂𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝
𝙳𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢
𝚂𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑

𝙰𝚝 youth 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕
𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎
𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜
𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝙰𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢
𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎
𝙶𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖
𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢
𝙴𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙
𝙰𝚜 𝚠𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕
𝚂𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕
𝚂𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝
𝙳𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢
𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑