Exorbitant amounts of sunlight

soaked into my skin,

baked raw and pining

no more for a love

outside myself.

The sun is enough. 

I believe because its rays

have kindled inside me some sort of a soft,

hushful contentment

of that sort they wreak and vie for

in the cities, in the courtyards,

out among the dunes,

out parched for a water,

but thirst is an honour, see…


O. R. Tambo International Airport, Johannesburg

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2020


BC, Canada