Rain-winds

For once the rain-winds will come into my house and sweep away this scorching burden. The wind-chimes will dance wild. The post-it notes shall unleash themselves and free me of all my to-do distractions.

Some parched leaves will fly in. One of them might come and nestle in my stack of dust-gathering unread books. One might come and rest next to me on my bed, where I lay down on hot afternoons thinking of my little home-town by the meandering river where my lonely mother waits and waits. One of them might just refuse to be and fly out of the door, leaving me alone, like always.

Whilst I fight my own angst and learn to bear can I hope for it to rain? Can I hope for the burnt old earth to smell of a new life? Can I hope...dream...lose hope and then dream again?

And as the stench of the burnt earth evaporates, the clouds shall growl and hide away the evening star. In its darkness I shall sit, drawing imaginary roads on the blackened walls of my room which shall some day lead me to you. In the still of the night before the rain comes, you shall drift into my dreams. The pain and the pleasure of this, only I will know.

Everything will end as it had begun. Everything will be lost as it was gotten. Everything will die as it had lived.

For once the rain-winds will come. And I will live.