To a New Season

Aiken Emmanuel Quipot

The scorching heat of humid days

pierced through the city smug,

trapped into the hazy cloud of dust

from the rumblings of engines and tires

finally into my depths.

Of confusion, I let it in ironically.

After all, the tragic has to come

in one way or another

The rose’ cold, feebled by the strength of words -

departure.

Numb, soon it’ll rest eternally

Under the catacombs of my entity’s resent

Day by day it loses its grip

A petal is left however

Unless the warmth is over,

survival may have its chance

Yet the season still hasn’t howled its final rage

and the last cry would be forgotten.

The scorching heat of humid days

dwells a sweeping killer sound

for a moment now, but not tomorrow

in a day of drizzle –

that, to grow once more

and open another bud.