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