A field of dead sunflowers

A field of dead sunflowers

The sunrays are reflecting in the dusted and dirty window of my train.

The train that bypasses a field of flowers.

A field of dead sunflowers.

Not even the rays of sunlight which enlighten my train, may be light enough to recover those once were beauties.

This huge field, once filled with hundreds of suns, smiling, lighting up the nature's heart, now a dead zone, attracting carrion. 

It's like the moon overthrew by its shadows and its coldness.

But when the seeds of the suns spread, under the new sunlight of a new time, 

the suns and the light will return.