I was head down at my desk,
it came wafting, on a whispering
breeze through my open window
like a belated bouquet of spring
flowers, the refreshing long awaited
essence of life on our planet, gentle
new autumn rain upon thirsty earth,
plants and yellowing summer grass.

No other ethereal scent is like it.
The enticing fragrance of rebirth
and replenishment.

And what a fine, long needed
gift of nature this is.

going home isn’t always
returning to a place.
sometimes
it is returning to yourself.

Sorry,
I love myself more.

To fall
   To unfold
       To connect
           And to hold
The life story of a lonely princess
Completed with a stolen glance
Mated with a perfectly calmed storm
Amidst an act of kindness.

a poet doesn't cry through their eyes,
but if you look deep enough,
you might see,
how tears fall from their soul

the way rain beats dry desert,
birth of flowers,
creation of installation

and a poet doesn't write,
but if you look deep enough,
you might see,
how they paint gardens in shape of words

These tears
Will leave.
I know it.
I made them..
You just don't-
Don't know why..
They appeared
In the first place.