The Language of Rain

A Tale

i was nine
when the sky became a place
for the very first time
and I heard a longing lover
cry in poems every night
I was twelve when dreams
started tiptoeing
in my life
and slowly seeped
from palms
to my eyes
there were
winters that returned
in fields of thorns
that looked like roses
and then once
I died on a summer day
and the winter never came,
never left
the string inside me
started slimming with every word
that you safekept
inside yourself
every time I sang knowing
dances only last a minute
and you were never here
for the music, the rhymes
I died and built homes outside
one in the sky,
one in your eyes
and now I've been picking up bricks
since 325 nights