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


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