The Murky Rain: Attempting a roseate sonnet

 

The little girl slices through the deep blue blush, the rain tears the clouds asunder

Beneath the flickering street light, her thin frame bursts in a hungry deluge.

Moored in the murky edges of the city, where the night traffic diminishes,

In the rain waters she unbuckles, finds her refuge.

 

Strands of her hair misplaced, she had sold framed photos of goddesses

Her bony body swimming through the unending vortex of urban vehicles.

The traffic honked, washed ashore the practiced voices of denial,

A middle-aged woman stopped the car, called her inside in unknown syllables.

 

Inside the damp walls of the unknown ‘home’, voices, flesh and bones

Crisscross, sex-starved beings haunt and whistle, rippling through hungry moans.

 

Rummaging through her, ghost voices swim, fall with a dull thud.

Outside, near the filthy gutter, her little teeth gnash the stale breads.

Swirling in the night rain, voices of her washed out childhood, her lost village

Ebb and flow, the rose bud of her being torn up in shreds.

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Between This Life and the Other: The Rain

dark rain

Dark Rain. Image Source: imgarcade.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do my dirty walls rain, still?
Dots imprinted on dark leaves, scrawling,
Pressing their heads to the crushing dust of human pain?
Do the fingers still dig into
The dark, unfathomable whole,
Beneath the ribs, the pain, stark dead, burning?

Do the primal clouds of monsoon jump in puddles, still?
Longing to steam, to cry in small streams,
Ripples and kisses, running down, the deluge
Slitting throats, trampling my primordial breast?
I have seen the skin, blood, bones
Of the rain, hung on to thirsty fingers
Licking the pickled salt of a fleshy pain.
Is it mine, still?
Forgot its name since we last held hands.

Does it still rumble, growl inside,
The billowing cloud-fire, the necklace of grief?
The night, jumping, leaping, sticking her tongue out
For one last dance, entwines me,
Stumbling over, as I listen to mourning ghosts,
Moving around, in circles, the earth
A whisper of sprinkled ashes of pain?

The smoke, a translucent fusion,
Do I drink it whole? The murky waters
Ruminating on the slumber-buried drone of pain.
Do I shake it off like old dust? Here it comes back
Peels and hums amid grinning, littered rain.

The bird rests beneath the rusted bricks and walls
The flash of cool light, of rain, long gone.
The heart of the wind beating amid the dead leaves in rain,
I stand, smothered between the damp walls,
Breaking and sinking, birdlike, aflame, drowning.