Maybe he was staring at my back,
I didn't wish to know for sure,
I couldn't wait to get in the car and go.
The heat the same.
The streets empty
Like my heart,
Calmer this way.
(Silence)

A festival,
Men and kids in long shirts,
Black and white,
Their smiles defind the excitement
I fail to feel these days.
Children ran in the cafe
And at the gate.
(Rough edges)

On our way,
A scene in the passing only,
So forgive me I can' t say
What happens in the end,
But then again would it matter,
I failed,
And now, so will you.
(Questions.)

A cluster of motorised Rickshaws,
A white sedan with one man
Inside.
A small crowd,
Nothing unusual.
-An observation of a grown mind.
One relatively huge man,
Huge of muscles,
Probably in his late twenties
Or early thirties,
Stood holding the door,
The man in the white car
With his hand on the wheel,
Their faces a scrunched up paper,
A raging frown,
Up too close I would have ran,
From far,
I could almost feel both of their
Heartbeats.
I could read the story of the man in white
Matching his car,
I was worried
How could he possibly describe
His ***** face, blue eyes
To his daughter too grown
To be fooled with a lie
Of fighting dragons.
Or to his son, whose mirror
Would now own a scar.
How do we a grow up,
With all the mess of knowing
A little too much?
His left hand holding his phone,
The muscled man was pulling him out now.
(Was there red?)


( I am sorry).