It is raining in NYC
But, I don’t mind.
Not at all.
I don’t mind the rain.
I think it’s a good thing.
I think it’s good that the rain comes
At least to, me.
I think the rain softens the dust
which complicate the days
and somehow, the rain comes
and there is a hush
to the world, like a lullaby
from the Almighty Mother,
high in the sky.
This is good.
The rainy days, I mean.
I say they allow me to look
through my mental windows
and see the world
from a sleepy view.
I can look out from behind the glass
with teardrop stains on the window
and the falling rain,
which allows me to think
or reflect,
or find solace
or hope in an otherwise hopeless case;
to ease the moment
before the stress begins to quake
or to settle the ideas,
which spin too quickly, and ah,
again, the Almighty Mother in the sky,
she knows me.
She knows just how to solve my stress
and with just a word, somehow;
I can be healed.
This is where the rain comes from; Her, The Almighty
and as she drops down the rain in teams of raindrops,
I believe she does so
to remind me of a day where nothing took place
except for a day of lovemaking
and rainstorms
and open sheets that uncover the bed
to which, two bodies can lay
and swarm against each other
like a weave that braids the hair
of an Angel’s perfect love.
This is a symbol to me;
a sign
or a standard, to which
love grows in the dimness
of gray, where clouds cover the sky
and beds welcome us home
like a palm cupping the bottom
of an infant’s body
I want days like this too . . .
rainy days, when the moments are too tortuous
and somehow, the rainfall matches the mood
or soothes us enough to take a nap.
Or, perhaps we can sip from a cup of tea
while thinking about the fact that yes,
the world is a perfect place—
regardless of the complaints we have
and you,
to me; you are what makes this place wholesome
and beautiful, which is not to say that beauty
did not exist before you,
nor will beauty cease to exist after you have gone.
However, I see this as an account
for the meaningful nature of the way life is
and the way love is, which is you
and hence; this is a creation of our connection
that means nothing to anyone else
but to us, or to me,
this means everything.
Or the way we are, when say,
we find ourselves at a moment of truce
so the guns can rest, and essentially,
so can we, yeah –
I say this is why the rains come..
I do believe that there is hope,
especially amongst the hopeless moments
of say, doubts, or fights,
or the pain we experience
or the hurt we feel.
I see the rain as a perfect explanation
to where, yes, I know that there is rain,
the same that I know
there is a sun above the clouds.
I know that it cannot rain forever,
same as we cannot hurt forever—and somehow,
just like the rain comes to dampen the soil
or soften the dust
or ease the debris of our otherwise
tumultuous life—I know that deep down
the rain has a purpose, just like our yesterdays
or the days before them, which can allow us to grow
and be better
for tomorrow.
I know that the rain is essential
for the birth and the rebirth
of the seeds we’ve planted.
I know that sometimes,
the rain is just a necessary instance
that happens, and, or,
in whichever way we choose to see this;
sometimes the rain is the sky’s way of weeping.
Either that, or, maybe this is The Almighty Mother
looking to empathize with our sad moments
and to remind us
not to worry because, above all
We are not alone.
Look over us, Blessed Mother, Almighty,
Holy, like the name Mother of all Creation,
and strong, like a Mother’s will to live
or to love, or to care for her child
and save us, please.
Save us from ourselves
and save us from the dust we create
and settle the debris
of our careless ways
so at last, we can breathe
and rest,
or to find peace for long enough
to call a truce
So we can live.
The Written Addiction 