My eyes keep burning
from what seems like one hundred hours
of staring into a dry wind.
That wind seems determined
to send my retinas into a drought.
It hurts to close them.
Yet it gives the tiniest relief.
I want to keep them closed
for days at a time.
Fight back against the drought.
It feels as though the drought
has crept its way into my mind.
When I close my parched eyes
I can see the cracks spreading through the grey.
Sleep without care of the continued goings-on
would be like a heavy rain to my soul.
To taste the moisture of peace .
To feel the cool liquid of relief.
To dance in the downpour
and discard those who remain still.
Wishing I could do as I pleased.
Hoping the monsoon will come.
Perhaps the wings sewn to my name
will take strength
and I can fly to the conspiracy.
Join the constable
protecting my drizzling peace.