Random

The day washes itself
Wringing its tresses free
Shaking
And stirring
As the winds
Bruise its edges
Clotheslines tremble
And grasses sweat;
Every head rustles,
Every movement stalls.

Then it smokes,
The winds acquire faces
Burning our sight
Choking our sighs
Criss-crossing
The ether's opaqueness
Minarets drown
They crumble
And the road stumbles
Into silence.

Voicelessness
Hammers upon ears
Fists turn red
Helpless eyes bulge
Shackled by a veil;
New colours
Wash over an old painting,
Perhaps the painter smirks
When the broken audience gasp
And watch along in numbness.