The sun shines boldly through the cracks, somewhere behind the sound of children rattling on old bicycles. The alley moves, full of life. The shadows stretch like bars over clod and soil.
The fluttering of the white flag, tangled in ropes, does nothing to lower the rising temperature. It’s the seagulls that screech in the air like old women. Let them not chase away my sluggish thoughts any further. I unravel, digest, and let go once more.
© Enisoor
Everything you give a name has a right to exist, before you know it it takes on a life of its own like a ghost.
