Ritual Of Alienation
S
Soran M. H
0
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I hear the rustle of slippers
behind me
who is it
Following me, a little apart?
I turn and stare
I see nothing
just dry leaves
seeking their destiny
after waving goodbye
to the trees
The trees are silent
stiff in meditation
the sidewalks are frozen
the streets are empty
I wonder:
where will these narrow paths
take us?
All the rhythm of the seasons
is stopped
But the yellow rose
that smiled at the hum of bees
and cared nothing about death -
let us hope
life
still pulses in her veins
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