The Opera of the Sun is set.
It rises to its most glorious tone,
Only for its audience to hasten to fade,
“And hours pass even, in a lousy code”
In the cold passing, it was our wear
It did only save us from our fear.
“The heat was not unbearable to resign to”
But now there is none to care.
It does cast a shadow to crown the needy.
“But it is neither suave nor empathetic”
It glares as a despot to the greedy,
Haunting even in the dead of night.
“The next morning however, is windy,
And the rain will bless the needy.
The coming has been told.
And every plant will slowly unfold.”
But today, the Opera of the Sun is in
An immutable concert, chanting,
“A tune that rivers the sweat.”
Arien Jamir
