Waiting for Sunshine

it is our stubborn reluctance
to stir the heavy air
who, like an aging lover,
thinks he can still tell
hidden yearning from unspoken boundaries,
a book lies unread on my lap
someone’s impassioned words
that conjure a false arrhythmia
begging for motion, for emotion
as if waving at the sky
will make it forfeit a single monsoon cloud;

it is the false propaganda of the rain
masking the odour of parched throats
with a fleeting waft of petrichor
that precludes dissent,
its clammy fingers proclaiming life
as if eternity rides down
on pregnant clouds
to backfill the emptiness;

but we have learnt to wait
until the sun deigns to love us again
until shadows that slunk away
return to the hollows of our patient curves,
we have soft umbrellas of inertia
to deafen the mystic drumming of the rain
the grey shroud will drop
from his bent shoulders
the revelation
is only a few yards
of nothingness away.

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16 thoughts on “Waiting for Sunshine

  1. You had me at “who, like an aging lover, thinks he can still tell hidden yearning from unspoken boundaries” sigh.. gorgeously written!❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Been wet lately? The sense that “revelation / is only a few yards / of nothingness away” is a soaked prescience to me. Too much backfill of emptiness. Here’s to searing returns.

    Like

  3. until shadows that slunk away
    return to the hollows of our patient curves,
    we have soft umbrellas of inertia

    such a rich piece – offering many readings to simply soak in its fullness – and there are far too many lines for me to pull and exclaim over – but I totally loved the simple complexity of these noted – the visual born in my mind of monsoon season and spoked, ribbed umbrellas and the body’s curves – the contrast and the wind – and wow – these lines – soft umbrellas of inertia – that is simply delicious –

    incredible!

    Like

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