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Poems of the Stone - The Yellow Breeze

I like to read and write in the English language on topics such as society, politics, business, education, sports, and worldly issues.

A painting by Italian artist Francesco Bonjourni

A painting by Italian artist Francesco Bonjourni

What remains for us
On this street
Except to lie in the car
That alone
Looking for prey
You may be at an ATM
A few hundred tired of waiting
It is common with viruses

Lonely old man
He finally found a goal
He will not budge
At this night
It is tomorrow
(After everyone threw it)
In the form of a car
Within a hundred meters
Or a bright sign
Over closed bar
It's also a dollar of glass
It moves by the hour
And after every hour
It creates another hour
Perhaps it is the only live currency
A little blood
He can live
A little air
Can fly
And from hand to hand
The virus is transmitted
Or waiting in the dish
Hiding under a word
Or under a number
To the right of the dollar

There is an exact course
That are polluted
It is running fast
The heart
Yes, the core
Who suddenly spoiled
There stays above the broad leaves
Or on the lung wall
The dew that came out of thunder
It is the torment of tonight
The yellow breeze
Between hands shaking hands
There is also
What remains over the gloves
A spray that is better for us to dry
Before we get into

In the hall they drink from the same cup
It is possible that this is a hallmark
We will not venture to hide it inside our camisoles
With that we distribute by touch and by breath
He was not pardoned from our chest
Ideas glued to the glass
Without thinking
Anger overflows our barren souls
Without intentions or feelings
We are not back now
Only copies of this armless day
That disappears in bed
Without being achieved
And without becoming a time

It is the evening of the cashier
With one dollar
And a virus awaits the dish

© 2020 Hafiz Muhammad Adnan

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