stale

biting cubicles whose walls are made of stale air

while saffron grows abundant just beyond the bend

the wheels can turn - and do they turn

with tightness I'm afraid I cannot escape

the languishing silence must go on languishing

seems

feeding greens from the lap of little innocence

right before the eyes of all

fingers disperse the water drops on semoules

and the walker takes a walk 'neath orchards green

far from the noise

far from the rallying




I'm tired

though glad to see your smile

always