.....
The Evening Came with the Clouds
On the New Trot leaves,
Monsoon’s traditional tune
Bats come and gather on the branches
Very young  Night,
On the other side of the  window
Fluttering of wings, brawl
In the dark,
On the wet ground,
Continuous dropout of Trot Flowers,
Rain mingled with bathed in
Opened the window at dawn
The air smelled of Wet Tanned Trots
....
@Musfiq us shaleheen

I am endlessly thrown in the wind
Dreaming of stillness
Rain stop falling down my face so I can feel my own tears
Thunder stop roaring so I can hear myself think
Lightning stop brightening up the sky just to leave me in darkness
Wind take me to the island where I smell nothing but saltwater and sweet fruit that awaits me
Leave me with trees abundant with coconuts anticipating my conquer
Fresh milk to drink and white meat to eat
No worries, just the sand beneath my feet
Where Waves only whisper my name at night and in day, Sun makes me feel warm inside

"Let's break up"
You stood up and left

Unknowingly

You left five senses behind

-

As you walk away

The last thing i heard were your footsteps
The same footsteps i eagerly waited to hear on my doorstep
But now it was a lonelier sound
It was now the sound of you leaving me

The last thing i saw was your face
The same face that offered me a kind smile in that cafe
But now it was a tear-stained sight
It was now the sight i wanted to forget the most

The last thing i tasted were your lips
The same lips that spoke "i love you"
But now they were of goodbyes
It was now the taste that burnt my tongue

The last thing i inhaled was your scent
The same scent i drowned myself in our bed when i was missing you
But now it was slowly fading
It was now the scent that suffocates me

The last thing i felt was love

And it was the only thing that remains

The breeze whispered to a fairy that
it could smell her most foul wind,
She looked on with tiny eyes and
clonked it not once but twice between
its misty eyes.

A fairy doesn't breath a foul bouquet
upon the air I breath. It is fairy dust
that we pump, and it smell like candy
floss breath. Now jog on windy,
ones brewing between me knees.

I heard him closing the door.
He lives in the flat next to mine.
Some seconds later I was right behind my door,
trying to catch a glimpse of him in the night.
Trying to go unnoticed,
though I wished to get his attention somehow.
If I just was a little pretty
I would run to have a small talk with him now.
He was already gone,
but there was something driving me crazy;
His perfume was sneaking into my house
through the door lock, making me dizzy.
I got on my knees just to inhale deeply,
closing my eyes and feeling a growing desire.
Hand on my chest,
and my heart exploded into fire.
I get jealous of that tiny perfume drops,
because they end up touching your skin.
Oh, if only my lips could do it,
but there's an universe in between.
Imagine being next to you,
to that perfume and your own skin smell.
You got me kind of in love,
you got me under a spell.

How can I feel this way when I don't even know the guy?
I just don't know, but I want him to be mine.

I should have skeletons in my closet,
but they've yet been stripped of their flesh,
and I've let them loose in this small town
for a game of hide 'n' seek.

She returned a set of my pajamas, unwashed,
her intoxicating scent lingering on hooks in my closet
where her aroma constructs an illusion.

I bury my face in them,
feeling my damp cheeks pressed into her *******,
reaching down below where my hand grasps her posterior
where it takes a firm shape in the loose garments.

I dig into the scent until I go crazy;
I tell myself I'll wash them next week.

I should have skeletons in my closet,
but she's taken it on the road,
in a small town parading it down empty streets
where I can see it clearly,

her oblong sunglasses darkly obfuscating
what I perceive to be her pejorative gaze,
over a narrow ivory face,
sandy blonde hair flowing in the wind.

(I still feel, yes, that smooth pale face cupped within my trembling hands, that sandy hair tangled around my fingers reaching up the back of her neck, pressing her face more towards mine)

I look for the shallow dent
in her ubiquitous red minute two-door seater
on the passenger side, where she was gently T-*****
by a student driver practicing their three-point turn,
and the smiley-face lemon-scented air freshener
dangling from her rear-view mirror,
having lost its freshness years ago.

(I still see, yes, us in that hardware store parking lot,
in the closed evening hour,
sitting cramped in the passenger seat,
her knees on either side of me,
our shirts off and skin warm and sweaty, nervous,
trembling, trembling, lips aching and souls yearning--
where were we headed to again?)

I look for it so intensely,
I forgot my goal was to never see it again.

          Young love looking for little things in a small town.

For years I play this game of hide 'n' seek,
and part of me should realize
that at some point she got up from her hiding spot
and moved on with her life.

(and no, I won't look at her engagement photos,
nor the photos of her newborn child,
nor the Happy Anniversaries and the congratulatory sentiments--
I can see them without social media's derision)

I still scan the streets
like a vulture over roadkill,
yet I thought I was the one
engraved into the grainy streets
where she commutes over my remains.

I should have skeletons in my closet,
but I let them walk out of my life
so I can chase them all over town.

The smell of a spring rain
settling on the earth
is the smell of life anew.

At the window, I sit with a book,
both cracked,
cooled by the alfresco air seeping through,
and tiny droplets glissando down the pane.

The pitter-patter of a soft rain
falling to the parched earth
is the sound of life replenished.

At the rain's offset, I leap from my chair,
exiting the front door,
to saunter through the lush green pastures
that linger outside the library's confines.

How green the trees appear, and the grass--
how rich the stalks of the trees,
their boughs with budding leaves quenched,
glistening in the sun.

I even enjoy the scent coming off the once arid pavement--
it is the smell of the earth,
freed from its impedance,
rising above the stifling asphalt.  

I smell the life that lingers beneath,
and the dull metallic tinfoil taste of the pavement
fills my open nostrils--

It is pleasant, though a little less so, than the ambrosial landscape.

I inhale ever so deeply,
relishing my favorite part of spring,
in the offset of a warm afternoon rain on a brisk day,
sauntering through the wood-laden trails on worn brick paths,

to the paved parking lot where my car awaits--
delineated in a filmy layer of mired pollen residue.
It needed a wash anyways.