Scrittura
Published in

Scrittura

We Are With The Winds

One by one—taken away to a distant land.

Photo by Oliver Hihn on Unsplash

Lie low and stay silent—don’t
walk out the doors; say no more.
They hear your shuffles through the winds that blow from the north
and down south then back up again, until
they catch a whiff of that disease from your breath.
There’s no room for death:
just time to sit and stare, glare
and catch those in hiding—too in fright
to be in sight of the lights of the windows. Though your shadows
remain silent—a silhouette
accompanied by a faint minuet—they continue to roam, seeking
for the last peeking of a scent no more deadlier
than their telltales and barriers. With lives on the line:
one by one, found hiding in plain sight
because there’s nowhere left to lie—taken away
to a distant land. Walls, built like a fortress
for them to graze and feast on all those around
who dare make a sound—still hidden in plain sight, though words
sometimes slip out and cause a turbulent storm:
hurricanes of ghastly disorder. Sick and tired—
not from the smells, but from the winds searching for those somehow
undisclosed and
enclosed
between the floors of their neighbors’ homes, looking for stores
still keeping their doors open, taking
all that is left from these ruins. We will form
an allegiance, in defiance of not the nature’s winds that blow
but the manmade cyclones because we no longer know
where to hide without getting eaten up inside—without
being engulfed by the stenches of our own sighs.

Yet still, one by one—
taken away to a distant land.

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A.X. Bates

A.X. Bates

Words can make a difference. Theatre student writing poems about life, society, and coffee. @axybates on Instagram and Twitter.