When the wind hits my skin,
it reminds me I’m alive.
When I exhale
I feel my heart
push against my chest.
During the day, I hear –
the sound of footsteps hitting the ground,
the voice of a man growling in complaint,
and a woman laughing at the top of her lungs,
only to convince another that she is okay,
and her family affairs are in order.
With the smell of a cooking pot blending,
with a disturbing unfamiliar smell,
I find myself trying to figure out
what this other strange smell could be.
All this is none of my business,
but the wind still blows it my way.