I sit, reflected in my window. Rain falls from the gray, ticking on the glass like liquid pebbles streaking toward their grave. No sun on the concertina. Muted cacophonies and the smell of a hundred breathing bodies hit my face.
Wall, wet with monsoon, stands the alabaster sentinel, caging the mistakers. No longer just a barrier, now the limit of existence
And lives that once were sweet and sour do not taste. The memento in my mind, were it able to flow away with the rain into the sand like toxic effluent, I’d be unchained.