- Vol. 07
- Chapter 11
Image by Helen Marten
THE CONFIDANTS OF OUR SOLITUDE
Our eyes are the confidants of our solitude.
Twilight touches the fate’s basket hilt
where all the wishes are jumping through
we cannot remember what we knew
when struggle became a pleasure
when the rescue of drowning words
in the political flow became routine.
Afternoon. We play our life to a different
sound when the crowd, a puzzle, around
needs to be solved.