"This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper."

Broken stone

Upon broken stone

I made a place

For desert dreams

To find dark

Shade

The black old cat

Was burned

In a firy sunset

For there was no river to run

And no sea to set in

So the cat let it go

Stone upon

Broken stone

I made a space

For lost sunsets

Black old cats

And a name

I found hiding

In a desert dream

It may never rain

Again

In Tidikelt

Yet the desert hare

Will learn to chase its shadow

In search of shade

And the name I once knew

Will dream of rivers

Where river beds once slept

For

Broken stone

Upon broken stone

I made a place

For things

To end

April 23, 2016

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2016

The title of this posting is from a poem by T. S Elliott "The Hollow Men"

I took this photograph in Morocco of a man making clay pots and dishes.