The hoarse breeze
For the needles of clock
To conquer another digit in the dial,
Before my unholy wish for life
Is slathered with another layer of death.
Where have all the vultures gone?
Do they not feast anymore,
On the decaying tissues of human flesh?
Maybe they have had just enough of it.
Do humans still inhabit,
The terrains and mountains of earth?
This new creed might have devoured alive
Even the last generation of vultures.
The ridges and deltas stand deserted
For uncountable aeons now.
I have most probably turned insane,
If ever the follicles of sanity
Had touched my skin before.
Who knows the truth?