Monday 4 June 2018

That morning rain

What was it about that morning rain
far from where the homeland lied,
far from where our tongue was spoken
and where I knew a face
in people passing by?

What was it about that rain
that fell through early mornings
in Kazakhstan
and Georgia?
That exotic morning rain…

If the sun appeared
it took its holy place before the lovers of the world.

If the fog came thick
it stalled the dying of the night.

But our partner in the dance
—that early morning rain
miles and miles from home:
it didn’t need to speak of love
nor think upon the night.

That exotic morning rain
came tender with the dawn

and with it washed away
all we’d known before.

No comments:

Post a Comment