Raindrops raining rings
On coffee cup surface.
Too wet to care,
I remain seated on the slab
Of concrete
By the containers.
Oil and filth creep into fresh
Cuts and scratches.
I ignore my hands itching,
Drink and exhale.
I could be a millionaire
Throwing cash at the shadows of
My emptiness, or a holy man
Preparing for Tukdam with
Nothing but his robes to
His name. Anything but this
In-between existence devided
Between too much work and
Not enough free time or sleep.
What am I doing here, should
Be the last words they'd watch
Me think. The concrete won't
Answer. The coffee won't comfort
My restlessness.
But the rain replies:
You're living.
"And what are you doing here?"
I counter.
Raining.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
Raindrops raining rings
On coffee cup surface.
Too wet to care,
I remain seated on the slab
Of concrete
By the containers.
Oil and filth creep into fresh
Cuts and scratches.
I ignore my hands itching,
Drink and exhale.
I could be a millionaire
Throwing cash at the shadows of
My emptiness, or a holy man
Preparing for Tukdam with
Nothing but his robes to
His name. Anything but this
In-between existence devided
Between too much work and
Not enough free time or sleep.
What am I doing here, should
Be the last words they'd watch
Me think. The concrete won't
Answer. The coffee won't comfort
My restlessness.
But the rain replies:
You're living.
"And what are you doing here?"
I counter.
Raining.
