HEAT, SMOKE AND DUST.

Now I miss the dust; not the clouds trailing the heels of fleeing crowds -
I miss the friendly brown sheets of earth - dancing with the wind during merrier times.
Though the dirt reddened my eyes with tears, all that cried was my eyes.
Now my heart is crying out, for my old, peaceful dusty streets.


Now I miss the heat; not the smoldering sanctuary that cremated them -
I miss twelve o’clock on the equator - on us the lazying lenses beaming down.
Though the ultra-violet rays darkened my skin, all that darkened was my skin.
Now my heart is full of gloom, longing for those hot, slow afternoons.


Now I miss the smoke; not the billowing marker of mayhem -
I miss the ghostly smog of the city - man and machine getting along.
Though the fumes oft chocked my lungs, all that chocked was my lungs.
Now I am chocking up, at the memory of the normal chaos.