It was the first rain
Unlike anything before; cold, breezy,
a cumulonimbus in his heart.
He had her moistened memories.
His puffy walls not yet ready to collapse.
His windows and glasses covered with dew
made it blur, his profound view.
For again he got up to see his reflection
But the dewed mirror was crying.
Those lines of tears he saw flowing.
But his eyes, they were dry,
As dry as the last summer.
The arid summer had become his dream
For though devoid of mirrors, he saw her mirage.
I was a kid in a puddle then,
the ways were black and white
leading somewhere I never knew
except for a concealed few.
On my way to the school
there was a poster on the bus stop,
poster of naked girl,
A lady she was, she was in my dreams,
In every blink of my eyes!
I felt something strangely alienated,
unsure and dubious about me.
I accompanied with my guilt,
I never changed my way,
Nor did I miss any sneak peek.
I was fond of her,
it was a routine to think of her.
One day there was heavy rain,
Mom and Dad fought over a grain.
I thought it was me and my way.
So sometimes the guilt changed the way
and sometimes I blamed my day
but the rain never stopped.
The kid drowning in the puddle had desired the poster,
today the flood has drowned the puddle,
the kid still desires for the poster profane
but the poster has become blur in the rain.
