THE GUST of wind links you and I

As we breathe each other’s air, through nose or mouth–

It doesn’t matter at all.

As long as there’s wind to tickle the skin

Of workers, lovers and wanderers

Walking under the sun’s light

Inhaling dust and exhaling heat,

For it is a must, or there will be no us.

Day in, day out.

Sun in, sun out.

Sometimes the sun shines on our supple skin

Illuminating parts that once were covered

Like an old, sepian picture, highlighting not the sorrows of the moment

But tomorrow’s hope.

Yet at times the sun rages,

Wilting leaves and eavesdropping under roofs

Like an arsonist waiting to reduce us

Into flushed cinders and reddened spots.

Every year, the world becomes a bonfire

Until we are diminished into ashes inside urns

Burned or buried, but still under the sun’s searing powers.

Architecture sets changes in curriculum, tests, uniform


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