Trickling down the skies above does rain kiss the land solemnly, Moonlight hidden from eyesight to protect lunar fantasies from brutal realities,
The storm rages.

Dangerous
Sticky red trickles down her stick
Another beating today

Oh how it's my fault
To dare speak of heart felt truth
Tempting you away from "justice"

Just remember
I may be battered and bruised behind bars
But it's you who broke the law

Have you seen a tree weep,
Not tears from it drop,
But, real blood.
Since 1200 years ago on the day of Ashura,
The day of martyrdom of Imam Hussain at Kerbala,
Mourns a big old fir tree,
In the Zarabad village,near the Ghazwin city in Iran.
Hussain was brutally martyred,
His head slain and hung on a spear!
Paraded  through the streets of Kufa,
So he could save Islam.
This fir tree, in the morning of Ashura performs a miracle,
It sheds tears of blood,
Which trickle down from its branches and leaves.
It's not paint or water colour,
For the drops smell of blood.
If a tree can mourn Hussain,
How can we be left out,
On that day tens of thousand gather around the tree to mourn Hussain,
Many critically ill come for sole purpose to be cured by the holy blood.
With Hussain's death truth prevailed,
Islam prevailed.

| / / | \ | \ \ | \
/ // / | \ | \ | / |
/  / / \ \ \ | / / \

Storm is gone
and all hypes  have settled down
i go straight to that one place
for that much awaited
cleansing...............and freedom
i strip myself of clothings
on the surface
and those underneath my skin...

Under the shower
i am bare
as a newborn babe.  
sighing....as i surrender myself
to the trickles of water sliding
                                            down
                                                   my
                                                         body...
I turn around once...
                              twice...
                         ­           thrice,
                                            to spray the wetness
                                                     all over me...
...i turn the **** gently....for more water
...close my eyes  
...as countless thin drops flow out, touch my head,
                                                           ­     i let them trace
                                                           ­             the countours
                                                       ­                          of my face...
Mouth opens a bit
i drink in some...to quench my thirst
let go of some...and retain the rest
be overcome by the coolness of the tap water,
.....take time to reflect...to ponder...
....while wet eyes give way to sniffles
....blending with those refreshing trickles,
...........erasing muddy stains of fear
...................and dried marks of tears
................sighs, of fatigue...and regret
.............these, i most often neglect...
.....under the shower, they'd be quashed
..........i'd let them all be awash
......................save for my personal friends,
..........like grit........and good ole common sense.

As water saturates my whole being
...a few expectations and dreams
..........go down the drain
.......while others.....stay
........and dwell within.

Some feelings just cannot hide
...some, refuse to surface, and stay buried deep inside.


Sally

Copyright October 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan