drought wake

sun glaring down from the weather hill.
eyes on the ground for the breakfast drill.

neck likes to bend, play the gentleman.
play you may, thinks the head, but be gentle then.

don’t pretend like this bend might bear fruit someday.
I can’t see, I can’t breathe, while I’m forced to pray.


revised version – first draft posted on 8th of April | also accessible on Medium

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