Les Souvenirs

the presence of dust and moisture dance softly on my lips,

on other days it’s mostly the same thing, but minus the moisture,

the sputter of the trotro and its addictive smell of exhaust fumes,

the unprovoked yelling of the bus conductor as he spots a mother and her three children in the distance,

a message from a loved one incoming,

let’s not forget the hawkers — they are unsung heroes, a little dehydrated, but still,

the usual craving of Fanice is instantly annihilated by the recent increase in price by 50 pesewas,

this one purchase will hurt my pockets, I fear,

as I ponder this the wind blows one more time, causing a gust of wind to rise for me to instinctively seal shut my mouth, nose and eyes,

driver, whenever you’re ready to…move…I guess…

Nessa 🖤


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