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