Dim Rooms Poem by Zyw Zywa

I walk through the village
The sun shines, the wind blows
a little through my hair

The shutters are closed
with chinks thin as needles
with long narrow eyes

My shadow doesn't fall inside
anywhere, there are none
in the dim rooms

where the light drearily
obscures what is going on
and what the consequences are

of everyone's comings and goings
The peeping people press me
as compelling devils

out of their eyes
out of the chinks in their lives
The sun upon me is insufferable