as we’re blindly stumbling on

I’m feeling a cold wind blowing
and taking what little there’s left
for us to be wrapping here around us

I’m seeing wet glossy eyes trying to cry
and long empty arms reaching out for themselves
and words lost here in the echoes

I’m smelling the oily odor of unwashed lives
doused in perfumes costumes and mobile tombs
filed in cold and lonely rooms

I’m lamenting the many times in temperate climes
when those things warm and easily won
are tossed away and left undone

Copyright © 1988, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri