the rain sifts through my attempts
to grasp it with mere hands:
one cannot understand
without going through its constant
shift and change of faces.
As to another, one learns
to ask the right questions,
naturally, at the opportune time.
Like in all things
Which pass through us
Were never truly there.
Those that do stay are bereft
What remains often
is the damp, moistness
of the late -ber month showers:
regret, loss, a tactless remark.
They share the same fate in all
of this, the slow, uptake for words:
closure, a second chance, a bad joke
like the heavy traffic we always have
to endure - a cartload heavy
-laden with stockpiled souvenirs
with no particular use except
for reminiscing, a flickering hope
for the last bus ride home.
One day, you will
miss all of this.
And the only thing
that is left to endure,
14 October 2017
* *Special Thanks to Jeffrey Pua for convinving me Romantic Love is still important in writing.*
*(*There you go, I have learned well from the Kuya Ruping, I have made my intentions clearer while maintaining an arm's length persona - as usual.)*
- I write from my Rain Poems' Voice, similar to my persona in "grasslands", Storm Surge and The Question of Rain