The Tears of Her Island

Raindrop falling down her wrinkled surgical mask,
coughing came out of that isolation ward,
as pervasive as the odors of rotten vegetable.
darkness like charred ants, fleeing in all direction.

She was twining a wisp of hair slowly,
counting the number of fallen leaves
outside the window and her sprit
interlaced a sleepy smoke with broken vases.

A lone soul made a break for freedom,
tears of her face glided across the grey sky,
singing a soft requiem from their land of spirits,
locked up in a flickered shadow of the candle.

Rugged surface muffled with spiderweb,
odor of souls was a brace to the walls.
a wounded sparrow fluttered to the ground,
licked the cries and whisper of the island.