Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Rain

 - Kazim Ali


With thick strokes of ink the sky fills with rain.
Pretending to run for cover but secretly praying for more rain.

Over the echo of the water, I hear a voice saying my name.
No one in the city moves under the quick sightless rain.

The pages of my notebook soak, then curl. I’ve written:
“Yogis opened their mouths for hours to drink the rain.”

The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face.
The window trembles; liquid glass could shatter into rain.

I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled.
If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain.

I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me.
The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain.


from: The Far Mosque. Copyright 2005.
 

1 comment:

  1. Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky. See the link below for more info.


    #rain
    www.ufgop.org

    ReplyDelete