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.
No comments:
Post a Comment