Amidst these dusty trees and dry landscape, I wonder through again and again, lost in this new world. I cannot fly, for I can’t see through the thick, brown fog and I fear the oily, murky river. The people seek others pretending to tell prophecies of complete nonsense. What do the people believe in, in this world? I’m sad that they look at me as if I don’t exist, like the lovers that don’t feel intimacy. I feel trapped like the oracle trapped in a jar and stared at until it withers away into nothing. I can relate to the slimy rat dragging myself through the thick mud on the banks of the Thames. Watching the ripples repeating themselves is like the continuous loop of this awful world. This confusing wasteland already seems like a giant confusing curse to me. I’m lost and without a purpose here, just like this poem.

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