27 April, 2020. 7:00 PM

_______________________

the next day it rained,
we washed our sins on the roof,
watching seagulls escaping the grey clouds,
we held hands
our fingers swirling around like a tornado,
we walked on the edge,

wanting to jump
our hearts out on the wet streets,
leaves turning heavy with dew drops,
sighs turning into fog
we walked and end up barren
inside a garden.

the garden with Bougainvillea trees,
magenta like a blushed cheek,
white flowers peek through the bracts,
an eyewitness of the summer rain
the shadows lurk behind
and the scene breaks.

here we are with our hands empty
moving out of the metal bars
of the hard windows,
doors squashing against the wall
as wind howls like a wild fox
peacocks sing songs of sorrow
of longings and human departure
the street dogs
with visible rib cages eat the soil,
soil where everything grows
and decays.

the roadside tree prostrate before our homes,
waiting for the summer,
the first of the heavy fall
as clouds swirl their cotton skirts
until wrinkles appear
and mark the death,
the rain is now older
older than this writing note
pasted over the refrigerator door.
the rain shatters the silence,
a baby cries,
a building burns.

the next day it rained,
we flew across the street
taking shade under the gulmohar tree,
watching seagulls bathing
in the pit hole,
our hearts
wet and windy.

our bodies clear
like an afternoon sky
enveloped in a pomegranate juice,
watching rain with joy.

©Sameera Mansuri 2020.

The post was first published on The Poetic Elixir who is the original owner of the poem as well as the picture.