Beating still

Nine hundred years of life
Now slowly slipping away
Like a leaking tap
Drip drip
Goes the farmland
Drip drip
Goodbye children
Is it their immunity
Or our interest
That keeps this place alive
Barely and yet
Beating still
And then when there is nothing left
They will say
Like a mirage
Is it possible we only still exist
Because of an observer

Empty streets of Bordeiro, Portugal

Christian shrine in the forest near Goís

"Impressions of the Valley" pen on Dessin A3 220g/m2 paper

Poems and photographs by Yuri Nezovic. 
Paintings and drawings by Neil Tomkins.
All rights reserved (c) 2018