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Oblivion’s Comfort
I wake to the desert, talking to the wind;
its voice is dry and muffled.
Sand cuts my skin as I walk;
nowhere feels like a place I belong to.
The seeming figs glow like a distant fire.
My feet are melting with every step I take.
I lose my balance when I stride;
I am surprised as the light darkens me.
Flames whirl at the edge of my sleep.
Dolores remains there, carrying fragments in her hair.
She murmurs, "Take care of my loved ones".
I turn around, but her stare does not leave me.
Water is only a mirage in my eyesight.
I watch their tiny faces drowning in silence.
I choke my breath as I consume the grime;
I confront myself, saying, "They cannot die".
They illustrate that the truth awaits at the edge.
My fist holds a gun, empty and cold.
Comfort lies in lying down and forgetting:
where living means losing myself in the unknown.
Copyright ©
Abir Sawran
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