Evenings are the most graceful,
Unleashing sheets of speckled rain,
Washing away red mud.
Scurrying leaves, sprinkling water down,
Twisting the cold, brittle air, before arriving
To gently make ripples and
Little exploding crowns of water.
The people see it too, and stop
And shake their heads slowly and smile again.
The second lasts only a second,
and their estimable lives continue.
the rain falls more than slowly.
Life’s bitter end continues now,
An aftermath of decades of cruelty,
It came upon us, a red mist, over the forest,
Under the bridges, through the narrow alleys,
Until it reached a large, high wall where it waited.
Over the city, it spread now, and children blew
Yellow bubbles from their mouths,
Tugged at their parents' black robes
And asked them in shrill voices for more money.
The world buckles, and turns to man.
Half begging and a little green.
Artificial insemination doesn’t work in the brain.
A transient life form,
Grabbing at comfort, sees another of its kind,
Perceives irregularities in the physical,
Doesn’t sense the mental.
Immediately, after a wait of nearly a second,
It's utterly mystified creator, puts his head into
His hands and cries for years-
Yet again and again, they throb to each other’s
Pulse and feel skin-deep.
And another one tomorrow.
And yet, comfort comes
And comfort goes,
Leaving nothing for the unfortunate.
Where they sell their souls for instant pleasures
Or bleed their brains for alcohol- there
seemingly exists no pain
And unending comfort.
But the barman knows the truth.
And so do the tramps who pick up the bottles
The very next, sunlit morning.
The sun excellently wipes out memories,
Masterfully erases artificial thoughts.
Clear and pure, its warm rays, glow and
Caress the cold flesh of waking zombies,
Until their inseparable thoughts become
The sun appears now, high above,
Carefully adjusting its angle,
Not wanting to sprout unnecessary joy.
For it too knows the cost of extra joy,
And no pain.
The people, like always, walk on.