Post-Rain, October the Twentieth

I write a few poems every October. This is from the 2012 October Series.

__________________________________________

The present fills your eyes in blurs. As your mind
migrates between tenses
you become alone without a premise. In the backdrop
sparse murmurs of falling raindrops fill the ambience without your permission.
Never mind the reflections. They seem to be moving; they might be alive today
but tomorrow they will be someplace else. Although you will be left
alone and wondering
how clouds remain disloyal to certain places, why
cars look more beautiful when the streets mirror them like moving paintings;
why street lamps illusion warmth.
I want to walk beside you
and not speak; in silence there is solace to find our inner voices listening
to each other.
This gorgeous darkness spotted by carelessly placed lights
is beautiful
like you. Your eyes search the sky and settle at the translucent clouds, they
retreat back to the city and unknowingly study the falling light – The bokehs,
the fluorescence, glowing faces of dark alleys, silhouettes of faraway buildings.
Where are you?
Shall we go home? I can smell black coffee and fresh bread. Stewed prawns
and boiled rice. I can hear soft cries from your books uttering
goodbyes; I fling them open
only to hear deleted messages and forgotten lyrics of old songs.
They are talking; they might be alive today but tomorrow
they will be someplace else. I walk towards our window and spot you;
your eyes finally find me. The present fills them with blurs.
As your mind migrates between tenses, you become alone without a premise.

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