Dead Places

Dead Places


On days when roads are busy with feet

I forget places

Places I have lived

when memories become companies

I wander those places

But the roads are empty and quiet now


Low walls with red bricks

Is all I remember of the past

Light rains splattering on the sun baked mud

mouth half opened drawing in the earthy smell

And nose high up in the air


Even now I breathe in the earth

the rotting fruits swelling and bursting

fruity scent blends with the air

half dressed women still spread grains

on the rocks that stood high

over the dwindling town


the mad man and his rituals

chasing his shadow pulling his matted locks

with hundred eyes rarely on him

he wonders if he will ever get it

his shadow always the faster one


if tomorrow comes

will he still chase shadows?

Or hit unseen humans?

Or simply remain locked in his mind?

That’s if tomorrow comes.

2 responses to “Dead Places”

  1. Smiles. I have appreciation for tranquility too and how it aids reminiscing. The two combined are a sweet sensation.

    This poem suggests the writer grew up or has lived in a village setting. You don’t look like it (now).

    I sincerely don’t get the hype over y’all beloveth petrichor🤪. I am not one of you. I mean i simply love when it rains, with or without the smell of earth.

    Tomorrow will come.
    Let’s keep telling ourselves that and prolly paint a picture of what we’ll have it look like(in our heads).
    Sometimes that’s how i get through today.

    Yet another beautiful piece. You’re doing well dear. 👍

    Liked by 1 person

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