Tuesday, April 18, 2017

A native sun

The sun was as fiery
As god's third eye
When it brooks
No questions or answers
And seems set on arson
Not on shedding light,
This was no time
To visit a city
Even a native one
That looked to be in flames
Morning, noon and night
Yet the bereaved would mind
Someone who baulked at weather
To even belatedly share grief ---
In his last days uncle had kept talking
With his eyes closed
To his dead parents
He had once stopped visiting
Finally, desperate, cried, 

To be taken home

No comments: