A Draught

The late afternoon sun falls slowly in the sky its radiant heat so strong as to slow time for all sad creatures sitting squinting gazing in the distance, prying open the mind’s eye Hearts beat at a cloud’s pace, and sweat streams down faces slow and winding as the river Nile A sigh. The tearing of a page. But little inspiration. Searching desperately for diversion I turn my gaze to the wavy distance where scores of empty vessels are parked lonely in a tarmac field no inspiration there. Two dozen unique individuals stare straight ahead and file past silently in lines going two by two blank expressions plastered on faces like wallpaper no inspiration there. Two cars, one black and one white, pass without greetings in the baking street and drive away out of sight, forgotten to each other forever no inspiration. Such is the numbing silent pain of a draught. The world needs the rain.