The Fury of Wisdom

While I write newer rhymes,
I am exhausted being a woman.

The sun beats down outside,
Bouncing off the roads.
People are in terrible pain,
And look they cry not aloud,
Their legs, burnt,
Their hands, burnt,
Their faces, eyes, heads,
Severely burnt.
I think of the pyre,
So generous to take it all in.
So unassuming
To the life
It takes in between.

Sadness, anxiety,
Everything is tedious.

I'd rather look outside,
On the road,
As I make myself
A drink.
While I write newer rhymes,
Exhausted as a human,
Exhausted of rejection,
I look out at the fury,
And feel it within.

So unassuming,
This life
In between.