Listening to the sound
of the wind rising,
falling, I drink my coffee
gathering myself
to edit raw poems
that have awaited two
days for me
to get back to them,
abandoned adolescents
restless in their attic room
calling for my attention
as I hear the wind,
the falling bombs,
the call for any survivors
under the rubble
coming from the video
running on the open screen,
my umbilical cord
to the world beyond
words and wind,
which tells me
of things I should write
instead, impressions
and body pieces
to etch in words,
as my restless adolescents
keep calling for attention.
07.06.2025
Verse Poetry Poems Poem
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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