A poet forbade the unblessed cup
Said something about love...
And a pair of parched eyes looked up
Horizon coloured with blood.
I see sparrows falling from the sky.
I blame it on their fate.
Fragile, sensitive, non survivalists.
They won't make it to the end.
And wallflowers, equally fragile,
Withering apart.
Blackened by car chimneys
Unnoticed, unevolved...
This is no fool's paradise
It's a wise person's hell
And yet they hope for sunrise
At every day's end.
I laugh and I pity
In my petite arrogance
No barter, we use currency...
The new age religion.
Market sells desires
Drenched in sweat
Covered with perfumes
Cheap bargains.
Wallflowers are free
No one needs them.
Saba
