It is said; if you wear an ugly face
When the wind changes –
Your face will stay that way.
If the wind changes
While my heart is broken –
Will it stay that way too?
From the west it came
Carrying dust and sandflies.
My skin dried and grit filled my eyes.
I felt I’d never be the same.
This ill wind had blown no good.
To my despair was added discomfort.
Hopes for peace had come up short –
I let myself fall.
Poetry is my aeroplane 