I wake in a homestay on a hillside in Dharamshala
the sound of the rain pattering out a rhythm on the rusty tin roof above
my eyes focus on the little window,
curtains half drawn allow a column of light to break through with the dawn
drops of water collect in rivulets and flow down the pane,
beyond shrouded in half mist is forest
blobs of green focus and blur with the raindrops.
Alongside me lies a she, an East to my West,
the blanket has fallen from her shoulders,
I trace a line with my fingertips from neck to the base of her spine.
I wonder at the perfect curve, the softness of skin
Cover her with the blanket then cuddle up close and close my eyes again
Hearing only the rain and her breathing, sleep-deep
By evening East will fly East & West head West
far from here, by trains & planes & dusty roads
& the days and distance will make the memory of each for the other grow cloudy
Until East and West will hardly remember at all
the sound of the rain on a tin roof far away.
Akogare – yearning
fiftyfreeandsingle 