I did not expect-
To mourn you.

It feels like you died.
Maybe you did.

You are etched on my bones
Ingrained in my soul
Locked in my mind
Still residing in my heart-
I cannot wash you
From my skin.

When will I be free of you?
Do I want to be?

Maybe I'm sad
Because I thought-
I was worth more
Than
You treated me.

(A gloomy, rainy Sunday...4:50 pm)

Sundown comes, and takes with
it, the spirit, the lilt of the day.
it wearies, and wanes...restless
minds succumb to acquiescence
and introspection at day's end,

the dark calms the world...

we thank God, for saving us one
more long day...from misfortunes,  
diseases, from the evils of humanity.

on lengthened gloomy days,
ashen hues of displeasure
ebb and flow, born from hushed
questions...dying unanswered,
it's hard at times, to keep on loving
all that we love...do everything we
love doing, with the same longing
and enthusiasm...as before.

to be, or not to be,
to do, or not to do,
to love, or not to love---
how do you practice continuance,
while reeling upon the murky
mid streams in life?

what if, we are suddenly,
summoned...to back off from
existence, take a final break?

do we carry resentment
wherever we may end up?
whatever second life awaits us?

our weary souls take rest, these
wonderings fade, as we close our
eyes at night...rising to a hopeful
sunrise, to wondrous chirpings of
birds...to rooster's calls...to water
flowing from the faucet...the sweet
smell of maple syrup and freshly
made pancakes, and sniffs of coffee
brewing...songs and scents of a new
morning, then, sun peeps through
slits and spaces, melting last night's
dark perspectives...a continuance
occurs...another day to tackle.


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   sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   August 25, 2021
#morning #continuance #sallyb

there's rain in antarctica,
rain in the amazon,
rain inside the ******* bus where i'm typing this poem

(stupid ******* holes)

even in deserts, really
it unites us, somehow
everyone knows the pitter patter
the melody of random drops

the rain i faced earlier
was cold
it was refrigerated;
winds from alaska swept vapor from the deep waters
and ended up as depression on the tropic belts

and it was depressing
it was cold
and grey
the leaves of trees, which glow emerald after an hour of rain, turned into mirrors after an entire day under torrents
and the world shared the color of nimbus

except the floods
****, there was floods
the dirt of a dry summer
and the dust of carefree days
dyed the asphalt rivers mocha

and it was c o l d
i had to brave the flow in hiking boots
and my toes feel like ice cubes

…i  exit the bus and enter a 711. i stare.

looking out in the world, i always feel like there is modesty within every droplet

i walked within a crowd huddling under umbrellas and tarpaulin and shop shades

with their heads down and their marches brisk

and i realized

there is no other sound but the rain

i have been to churches noisier than this

everyone was silent
everyone was busy
everyone had rain in their minds
but i bet this silence is within them as well

maybe moore was right; maybe god is in the rain.

perhaps, if other than them praying for the hurricanes to go away, they are also praying within this serenity.

praying about the cold. the randomness. the suddenness of life.

if nothing at least it's music is calmer than any hymn

i stare more. the clouds are low.

******* hell, it's cold

it's always been cold these days. we should've expected the weather to share the same **** condition.

everyone's confused
everyone's sad
everyone knew this was their life now.
though everyone's facing different things, in different sizes

it all washes down on us, cold and hard
in the end, we share the rain

and me
the cold rain won't be stopping anytime soon.
i'll go out and brave the currents again

and in loud silent noise

i'll be praying