I am in the desert
Where spring grass is now tall
No one can see the rabbit holes
No one walks alone anymore
Away from the city
Where people now hide
In their own rabbit holes
Fear is now like a dream
For eyes that stay wide open
In await
For in the desert spring grass
Does not move, it undulates
Unda after unda
As people hide
From each other
A falcon cuts thru the air
As a broken spear
As a lost arrow
And fear makes us forget
The stolen kisses
Of simple times
Near a night-blooming
Wild jasmine bush
Butterflies have many lives
Each colourful and lonely
As they rise with the morning sun
And rest under the high noon whistle
A lost arrow makes
When it finds its way
The spring grass is tall
No one can find the rabbit holes
May 16, 2020
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2020
The title is a verse from Ciudad sin Sueño by
Frederico Garcia Lorca. As I was
re-reading that poem, I found in its lines predictions of pandemics and people’s
reaction to isolation.
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