#500 (sirenade)

The sirens

won’t stop calling

as if their message

got lost in translation.

But who would not

comprehend the meaning

of that shrilling noise?

A riddle, placed before me

and the sparrows won’t

stop chattering beyond

enormous satellite dishes.

Sonic disruption, pressure

building in my temples

as I flee the city, into

my refuge, close to

the sky, welcoming

culvers and pigeons,

their cooing a

cure for my battered

eardrums.

 

© Matthias Grupe, 11th August 2018

 

3 Comments

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