A tiny breeze
Cleans the stagnant air
Around my bedroom.
I thank the gods
Nobody comes closer to me,
So they cannot smell
The stench of *****,
Unwashed masses of hair.
A breeze that brings
The smell of tear gas,
I sense the protesters
Didn’t want to leave.
Now the smell
Of live death
Fades away
Mixed with scents
Of freedom and dignity.
I wish I was there
I used to be clean,
I used to move around,
When routines kept me going
Instead of being petrified
By the following day;
I used to be useful
Or so I’ve heard.