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 Nov 2019 Anjali Lamani
just imagine
seeing the water jettison into the sky,
the spray bursting off clouds
mist glistening through air as colors drip between droplets
the base of the water-rise acting in place of the precipice of a water-fall
just before liquid jewels ascend towards the empyreal
and separate into a thousand small gems, each with their own color, their own purpose
to the surrounding Vleiroos at the summit

But We don't rely on water
we grow and bend and ebb and flow with the water rising past us
But we cannot rely upon it
it does not char and burn, nor crackle and conflagrate like our lover does
he is the one who burns us up and blows us apart and turns us from ashes to dust to doxy and expiry all through accouchement

blessed be the fruit
of the vleiroos in the winter
and blessed be the water
given to the vleiroos in spring
and blessed be the fire
that carries the vleiroos through pullulation
Why be my water-rise when you could be my flames?
 Nov 2019 Anjali Lamani
Majestically under the ominous, dark clouds,
The rain pours over the Earth, moistening it in a hard, then gentle way as each drop, each body of water sinks into the bottom, vanishes,
With a rythm, each follow a purpose, a goal they want to reach.
Fertilising the earth after a drought, letting life grow out of light after those dark clouds make room for the golden light of the rising sun.
Let them be distorted, these drops of cheer, sadness, happy thoughts and agony, carried by the rough storms of an autumn afternoon.
Hitting the window, they display their tune with their delicate figure,
In harmony with the wistling wind and the growling of the sinister thunder the orchestra of nature reaches it's peak in this sensation.
The sky is pitchblack, yet crossed by lightnings every now and then,
Providing a lightshow, which might be a bit too dangerous to be around, for the music of nature, dancing, swaying across the clouds,
What is it that makes this silly storm catch my attention so much ?
Perhaps, the song of the lonesome rain when everyone escapes in order to not get soaked, is what truly touches my heart.
Because there is no one outside to listen to it.

~ Umi
The teacher's eyes gathered colours about
The cultured garden scene she knew so well;
She likes the section flowers nicely sprout
Her hidden world where varying colours jell.
Achievers pride she takes with all her heart;
Like outstanding pupils she proudly groomed.
But scrappy lazy ones, never seems to start,
She wished them luck and left alone to bloom.
The sun regardless shines on all juniors.
The bright ones, the brats she pitied a lot.
Through years and wise by age she remembers,
Oft visiting her those she had forgot,
Those she loved and cared have whittled away.
But strugglers now trees they weathered to stay.
sometimes people make me sick
because they expect so much
and do so little for themselves
to stay and see that life can be beautiful
with people who are interesting

— The End —