artist: Sarmed Mirza
Sere-Month
The August sun sears an infant’s scalp;
Heat cracks the river’s clay.
Days mount, still; there is no help
For parched throats, dust-filled eyes. Pray
For rain, tears streaming cheeks,
The agony of earth flooding wild.
Comport as if a seer who seeks
The ever cyclical, not the safe, nor mild
Hours that never falter like creeping death.
Life lines, soul-seared by griefs past,
Must be pierced, crushed like Goliath,
Felled, ravaged, slashed.
Sere-month was once a name for August,
The time for cutting briars. Raging rain
unstills the arid self, our moves made honest;
Days are rife with seasonal liars.
So much power. A warning and lament.
How do I even pick a favourite line? :)
our moves made honest --- yes, yes, oh how the planet holds us to account