The wind soars, bringing the particles with them.
Bounding by, mangling with, do they feel stagnant too?
Do their breath slow and deepen into desperation?
The cigarette is lited up, hung between his fingers.
His face wears a blank. Smoke escaping towards the sky.
How freely they go, whirling and twirling in their new found company.
The runners are forcing their lungs, still, as usual,
the street soccer court isn’t wallowing alone.
Kids are out with their bicycles. Something hangs.
They slash and cut. We lament and complain.
They don’t know a thing about the environment,
and we would do so much better.
But whose fault is it really?
The economy driving, the agricultural practices flourishing.
The consumer really isn’t responsible for anything.
Soley due to the proprietor, he does what it needs be.
And we, just commoners, have no say, don’t we?
Would you try, to see if you could hear the sorrowfulness in the cat?
To see the flowers suffocating?
A new layer of grey dust coats the leaves, do you reckon
they learn to adapt?
We talk, we all do. In somewhere, it is written
with the belief of man’s dominion over nature.
So we slash and cut
puffs air into my eyes.
Truth, as I see, is layered in this haze.