It is upon us.
Its blistering tongues lurk behind the levee,
They pounce like savage beasts
Mercilessly they wheeze
Blowing the tumbleweeds against my doorstep.
A goodbye kiss, crackling dry.
Deserted yards, howling.
The yellow earth swelling and swirling,
It is in my eyes, my nostrils, my teeth.
Every time I spit,
I spit grains of sallow sin.
There used to be ponds along the river
And fishing nets heavy with fish
The cabins on the lake full of
guffawing and cheer,
There used to be trees and snakes.
The forest playing organ to the gales.
It is gone now.
Its birds scattered
like dust from old carpets.
The vineyards are dead.
Their grapes, dried up and shriveled,
Won’t be quenching no thirst
Won’t be crowning no wedding
There ain’t gonna be no toasts around here
Only the sheer shriek of the southerly wind,
Only the curses of the departed still drifting
across the inward-moving sands.
*poem inspired by this article: https://www.vice.com/ro/article/9ke3nz/seceta-si-nisipul-au-cucerit-sudul-romaniei