This is my poem, my message to you.
From one drop in a million to another.
It seems like just yesterday we were
running our fingers over unfurnished
window panes,
rough chips of paint catching our
prints as we go
the glass divided into four, like an
Andy Warhol painting, each raindrop
pattern slightly different.
Seems like just yesterday you
were calling my name. Gallivanting
through cobbled streets, through
torrential rain.
Flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder tried to warn us, but both in vain.
Seems like just yesterday we were
getting soaked to the skin, soccer
balls in a bin,
roughhousing it to earn that win.
So caked in mud, despite downpour,
chilled goosebumps rising, grins on
our faces, glistening gems glued to our eyelashes.
Seems like just yesterday we’d
strip off our wet clothes, gingerly
step into the shower and feel the
warmth trickle down our spine.
Hot water coursing through threads
of our hair like an egg cracked on one’s
skull.
Swathes of cotton wrapped luxuriously
around me.
An oversized sweater, the old, unfashionably
saggy and baggy type.
And shlupping off to the kitchen for
some tea and whatever was hot.
I see it like it was yesterday
and it seems like it was yesterday.
But now, it’s today and
all life has to offer is mere fragrances
of yesterday.
But sometimes, sometimes I’m lucky.
Sometimes the aroma, the scent is strong
enough to make me wistfully and almost
genuinely believe that it is of today.
Tonight, it’s just rain,
and guess what. I'm content with that.
I'm content it’s just rain.