The Rain

The rain reminds me of my estranged almost poofed life
waiting for the stars behind the dark clouds to glimmer on my face.
It poured and poured all over again like the tears in my eyes
so vivid that I couldn’t anymore see the thick fogs sheathing my face.
My tears streamed in and flooded my face like the rain
that vanquished the rivers, the lakes, the seas and the mountains.
The rain and my tears – they are alike.

The rain is cold – terribly cold – when I touched it with my bare aching hands.
Indeed, it was cold like my knees, like my feet, like my heart that sluggishly pounds
inside my aching chest. Am I dead? No, I’m not yet dead. I’m still breathing.
I know I’m not yet dead like the pouring rain that flirts with the monsoon wind.
They danced and swayed and danced ’till the rain felt terribly tired and wearied.
The rain wanted to quit but the wind wanted more, so they danced and swayed again
like starving beasts chasing their prey in the wilderness.

In the rain, I saw Kay running as if she’s trailing a lost tiger from the zoo
that she didn’t notice that her white dress was awfully soiled and soggy.
And I saw her wet face, her pale cheeks and her eyes – her lovely eyes, I thought,
that once captured my heart and soul. The only eyes that brought fire in my veins.
I called her, repeatedly, but she never looked at me as if she’s totally deaf.
My voice was drowned in the rain and she went away,
Too far away that I couldn’t see her anymore.
And the rain stopped but my tears never ceased pouring.

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