but the rains
that sprayed verdant beads
have left marks -
dried furrows gouged
in once green fields – now arid
where dry winds
blow sour breaths
and sear the scars
-- unhealed --
and eyes that once
saw the moon even through
the glare of neon lights
are now blinded -- stranded
like a child’s discarded toys
lost in the dust
of implacable stillness
-by Rita Putatunda
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