Melancholy of a Pluviophile

The drenched halogen yellow lightened my walls.

The silence is salt & peppered with brontide and whistle of breeze.

Thoughts are forming up, words are gather around

But they are disappearing like the droplets on the glass of the windows.

—-

Am not remembering you, Rupai, or lamenting

This moment is the long after the rain when dryness is found.

—-

The city getting drenched, the roads are getting drenched

My soul, tired and marooned, getting drenched.

The nib of pen is though dry trying to write;

Dipping itself in the water on the road that flowing away.

—-

Am not thinking of you, am thinking of what to think.

The sadness I feel this moment is the melancholia finding its voice.

–x–

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