under the unseen
wastes floating
alongside the clouds,
i’ve peered
at the blurring memories
of times bygone

the waves
that used to waltz gracefully
are now as loose
as the sands in the shore
where they used to land.
when they ebb
into their horizons
once a month,
the daisies planted
on the ocean floor are revealed:
wilting, patiently,
beside the rusting metals
of sunken ships and people

those who reign over
the cities are still
trading air and tanks
with gold;
the cosmonauts that remained
are left with no choice
but to dig
and try to survive  

they say small towns
are now vanquished,
but when you look
intently beyond
the forlorn and barbed wires,
traces of life can be seen —
on half-bare trees and
on blood-painted gutters.

in where we reside,
footsteps and words
are almost nowhere
to be heard.
we walk lightly as how
we breathe quietly.
if you get to visit our place,
squint your eyes
and gaze beyond
our tinted masks —
i pray
that you’ll somehow see
how we’re still
what we used to be:

living creatures,
only trapped
in strange times.