Promises rain off season

Eyes discover an ancient terrain
imprinted on cheeks of colored clays.
Water is too humble to touch the earth;
it returns as vapor into light. Fish play.

Songbirds ascend heralding joy:
chests expand, tiny flowers bloom,
skies get darker, peacocks get drunk;
suddenly, clouds begin to roar and cry.

Thatched roofs get tickled, floors forget dryness,
rocks crumble. The river takes new channels
and passion takes new colors. A call
for submission is heard all around.

Sorrow traces its forgotten route,
returning back to the primal fountain of memory,
eternal and profound; its waters being made
of tears and honey, sweat and milk, blood and nectar.

A deep rest awaits the unblinking pilgrim,
in the shade of a wish-granting umbrella,
under the fused glow of a fading neonlamp,
besides a muddy puddle in a decaying city.


~ by Bombadil on March 15, 2009.

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