Ghouta Blues

Fall’s canvas graces the air 

as orange spices tease our tongues 

cocooning skin against the chilly tunes 

of the season’s winds. 

even the trees shed their summer’s sins 

while ours lay hidden 

under layers of warm thoughts 

and denial mittens 

singing empty promises 

to the tombs of the forgotten. 

far away, 

seep the aromas of Hades’ tokens 

flinging pieces of the sun against the heads of children 

hopes set aflame faster than an arsonist’s playpen. 

they, 

hastily dig resting places and pray for a quick end 

i, sip my cinnamon treat while you hold imaginary lives 

in your cyber kingdom 

they, 

almost forget how to giggle and smell cordite-less autumn   flavors 

we, forget that being mute today 

will blind others tomorrow 

when Hades’ lands on our shores 

and S.O.S’s are ignored by ‘fellow’ humans…

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