Szárazság. Aszály. Sivatagban. Egy pohár víz kéne. Vagy az agyban. A lélekben.A szeretetnélküliség, az ötlettelenség. Hát ez a szárazság, mint a kiégés olyan lehet, ez a belső szárazság. Amikor összeragad a a szád, és se köpni, se nyelni nem tudsz. Csak tátogni. Mert nem jön ki semmilyen hang. Vagy teljesen összeragad a szád.
There had been no beer for a month. The last kegs of stout had run out three days prior. All around the city, haggard faces desperately sought the lovechild of barley and hops.
“It’s a bloody drought,” he said, mouth dry as a morning after. “What the hell are we supposed to do, drink water?”
Fragile earth, beaten down by obsessive love from the sun. If she could scream, she’d beg for the clouds to come and shield her. They’ve been chased away by God knows what, and until they decide to return, she grows weaker, and waits.
I could feel the dryness on the tip of my tongue. It hadn’t had been moist, wet….rainy in so long. My eyes peeled as they gazed out longingly toward the desert-encasing window….barren lands running for miles on end….
It was almost winter time. The calendar was probably forgotten by some passing tourist on his search for freedom. Going on his way he suddenly decided that monthly orientation was no longer needed. 40 degrees C and that stupid colored piece of paper was showing it was almost winter time.
It was the summer of the long hard drought. Absolutely no love on the horizon, no affection to shower down on me. We all know a woman needs affection like the flowers need the sun and without that affection a woman feels undone!
The water was rising faster than we could try to swim our way out of the house. The windows were thankfully broken to begin with, so my sister had managed to get out, but I was still stuck, a pant hem caught on the coat rack. She waved at me as I told her I’d tell our mom hello when I saw her, and the darkness filled the last of me, my final sight the drought report for this summer.
I don’t know where this cold comes to sit in my bones, tickle my nose and jump between my shoulder plates. I need someplace warm to see better. Too breezy to move, paralyzed between these sheets.
Mulish nature giving us nought. What an imperative sod. Mrs Cartwright could have throttled the vermin. Her hands were big enough. So the story begins with a drought, that was actuated by a twister. And the drought goes on and nobody knows when it will end.
He sat on the back porch and watched the dark clouds and thunder move across the distant horizon. It seemed as if the storms always just missed the valley in which he lived, The wind whistled softly through the sage as he silently sipped his drink, silently gazing across the open country.
I felt the rain fall for the first time in what seemed like forever. I stood there and let it soak my hair, pour down my face, off the ends of my fingertips. I stood there until the water formed puddles around my feet. I felt happy. The drought was over.
The brunette leaned forward and stared into her friend’s eyes. There was no laughter in her voice this time. “You’re like someone who was born and raised during a drought. You come from a broken home, and you’ve never had a relationship with anyone based on mutual love and trust. Honestly, you don’t know what love, in a partnership, is. Sure, you know theoretically, just as a woman raised in a drought knows theoretically what rain is. But you’ve never felt it, never seen it, never experienced it for yourself. And you never will, if you choose to go down this path.”
perched parched poor me
pour me another, forget when
and to hell and back again
this drought, a water spout
spigot sprinkled and soused
the cascading carcass of rain.
the sharp-edged weapon pierces his skin. it takes a while before he realizes what has happened. the tiny trickle of pain grows. he cries out but no tears fall.
“It’s raining,” she whispered, voice as soft as a feather to the skin except instead it tickled my ears like a vibration in the wind. “It’s been so long, I almost forgot there’s an ocean out there, somewhere. I hope we can see it one day. I hope it’s not gone when we get there.”
I feel as if my mouth is wrought with drought, dry and empty of the words it will never say. Stiff with the kisses it will never plant. Dumb with the smiles it will never share.
I am in a mental drought. There is nothing on the horizon, and there has been nothing for weeks. No thoughts, no memories. Nothing. I woke up and this has been it since the first awakening.
I’m not sure if it was the dust or heat. The sun beat down so fiercely it made the wind feel like hot smoke. Eyes burnt with the same redness, only the dust was no so easily cleaned away.
“About 100000 people died during the famine which was caused by a severe drought…” I was watching the news when I heard the door ringing.
It was the pizza boy.
no water along with zero humidity
in a dry love called duty
anna steps to the wrong side
karenin allows the new bride
apology could not be reached
when the love can not be sued
god swallowed us in his belly
so we can smile at the storm
forgetting his belly’s an ocean
remembering too late that he
created us to drown
Szárazság. Aszály. Sivatagban. Egy pohár víz kéne. Vagy az agyban. A lélekben.A szeretetnélküliség, az ötlettelenség. Hát ez a szárazság, mint a kiégés olyan lehet, ez a belső szárazság. Amikor összeragad a a szád, és se köpni, se nyelni nem tudsz. Csak tátogni. Mert nem jön ki semmilyen hang. Vagy teljesen összeragad a szád.
There had been no beer for a month. The last kegs of stout had run out three days prior. All around the city, haggard faces desperately sought the lovechild of barley and hops.
“It’s a bloody drought,” he said, mouth dry as a morning after. “What the hell are we supposed to do, drink water?”
Fragile earth, beaten down by obsessive love from the sun. If she could scream, she’d beg for the clouds to come and shield her. They’ve been chased away by God knows what, and until they decide to return, she grows weaker, and waits.
I could feel the dryness on the tip of my tongue. It hadn’t had been moist, wet….rainy in so long. My eyes peeled as they gazed out longingly toward the desert-encasing window….barren lands running for miles on end….
When you’re gone
There’s a drought of love.
That was a lyric by the Mamas and Papas.
That’s what I thought of when I saw
the world “drought.”
That, and a cold beer from the U.K.
The ground had cracked into plates of dried earth, brown and hard-edged and desolate.
I have no words to describe rainless-ness in your language.
To lament, I need my own tongue.
Only the words my mother made can ever console me.
It was almost winter time. The calendar was probably forgotten by some passing tourist on his search for freedom. Going on his way he suddenly decided that monthly orientation was no longer needed. 40 degrees C and that stupid colored piece of paper was showing it was almost winter time.
It was the summer of the long hard drought. Absolutely no love on the horizon, no affection to shower down on me. We all know a woman needs affection like the flowers need the sun and without that affection a woman feels undone!
The water was rising faster than we could try to swim our way out of the house. The windows were thankfully broken to begin with, so my sister had managed to get out, but I was still stuck, a pant hem caught on the coat rack. She waved at me as I told her I’d tell our mom hello when I saw her, and the darkness filled the last of me, my final sight the drought report for this summer.
The drought in Kenya was even worse this year. The elephants were dying due to the lack of water in the river.
I don’t know where this cold comes to sit in my bones, tickle my nose and jump between my shoulder plates. I need someplace warm to see better. Too breezy to move, paralyzed between these sheets.
Mulish nature giving us nought. What an imperative sod. Mrs Cartwright could have throttled the vermin. Her hands were big enough. So the story begins with a drought, that was actuated by a twister. And the drought goes on and nobody knows when it will end.
Dry and desolate,
this land was once lush.
Little did they know,
the drought that took the rain away
also took away their lives.
I chased all the tumbleweeds,
and then, eventually,
they began to chase me.
He sat on the back porch and watched the dark clouds and thunder move across the distant horizon. It seemed as if the storms always just missed the valley in which he lived, The wind whistled softly through the sage as he silently sipped his drink, silently gazing across the open country.
I felt the rain fall for the first time in what seemed like forever. I stood there and let it soak my hair, pour down my face, off the ends of my fingertips. I stood there until the water formed puddles around my feet. I felt happy. The drought was over.
The brunette leaned forward and stared into her friend’s eyes. There was no laughter in her voice this time. “You’re like someone who was born and raised during a drought. You come from a broken home, and you’ve never had a relationship with anyone based on mutual love and trust. Honestly, you don’t know what love, in a partnership, is. Sure, you know theoretically, just as a woman raised in a drought knows theoretically what rain is. But you’ve never felt it, never seen it, never experienced it for yourself. And you never will, if you choose to go down this path.”
perched parched poor me
pour me another, forget when
and to hell and back again
this drought, a water spout
spigot sprinkled and soused
the cascading carcass of rain.
the sharp-edged weapon pierces his skin. it takes a while before he realizes what has happened. the tiny trickle of pain grows. he cries out but no tears fall.
“It’s raining,” she whispered, voice as soft as a feather to the skin except instead it tickled my ears like a vibration in the wind. “It’s been so long, I almost forgot there’s an ocean out there, somewhere. I hope we can see it one day. I hope it’s not gone when we get there.”
I feel as if my mouth is wrought with drought, dry and empty of the words it will never say. Stiff with the kisses it will never plant. Dumb with the smiles it will never share.
I am in a mental drought. There is nothing on the horizon, and there has been nothing for weeks. No thoughts, no memories. Nothing. I woke up and this has been it since the first awakening.
I’m not sure if it was the dust or heat. The sun beat down so fiercely it made the wind feel like hot smoke. Eyes burnt with the same redness, only the dust was no so easily cleaned away.
“About 100000 people died during the famine which was caused by a severe drought…” I was watching the news when I heard the door ringing.
It was the pizza boy.
Dry skin earth.
Cracked.
Empty veins lead back
To a hollow heart
Of crumbling clay.
no water along with zero humidity
in a dry love called duty
anna steps to the wrong side
karenin allows the new bride
apology could not be reached
when the love can not be sued