Day 355: I am Rain

It started to rain in the evening as the day ended. The rain it passes by as reminder of things that had been and reminder of things to come.  It treats all equally,  it just pours without reason,  without judgments or without reservation.  It knows of no boundaries that control it,  it rides the free wind.  As you close your eyes it washes both tear and anguish while the lightning reaches a part of you that you hide from even yourself.  I am the relentless,  I am the cold and the warmth of the day.

I am Rain
I am pouring outside your window pane
Between the moments that you find me sane
While I wash away the moments you hide
And bits and pieces of me will somehow survive

I am making a sound outside your door
I am sticking to your roof and lying on your floor
I am still attached to the moving of the day
I am trickling down your back like a drop of rain

I am the puddles you cross over and some that splash
You are putting out fires and leaving behind ash
Yet some things you cannot leave & neither change
Some things as they must, they will simply rearrange

These cold drops on a warmer summer night
These lightning strikes as though putting up a fight
In between the restless days, the hours too will fall
I am rain, I am washing away all

Day 354: Sweet Biscuits

This one was a harder piece to write, I guess mostly because it was looking at something we get to make and yet as something more symbolic. I write this to the sweet biscuits we make, the memories we bake together in the oven. Even on a slow, gloomy and slightly warmer day, my thoughts escape right back to you in the month of May. I am writing this as though hoping that the room smells of that perfect batch we made, the little pieces of warmth I share at the beginning of the day. For all that is unanswered for now, I hope they remain just as they may. Here's hoping it reaches right where it needs to and the aftertaste lasts just a little longer.

Sweet Biscuits
So I packed them all, all that I could fit
And took it on travels; even if just for a bit
Reminded myself of a warmer place
And a smile that lit the day, right on your face

There are words on my footsteps, I write them down
I am hoping to be the familiar, in the box of lost & found
Come find me when you expect me; to be nearby
When you looking for a walk and yet wishing you could fly

I bake memories, as the warm oven it slowly cools
I am sweet biscuits that sit on the tray and on the stool
While the whole house it fills with maybe just your smile
You are thoughts that don't escape & aftertaste that lingers a while

My sweet dreams that I sometimes get to make
These perfect pieces of sweet biscuits that we bake
You lend me a hand and I lend one back to you
We are making memories and keeping them in jars too

Day 353: Funny How

I seem to be slowing down more as I keep writing and edging towards the last few pieces of the blog. I am not sure if this is something I planned for or something that is just triggered in the back of my head. I find a few things funny because of situations lately than anything else, funny how we wish for lost things, funny how we claim to remember dreams that we often forget. In the little things, I wish to write today, I am crawling just a bit and then somehow hoping I will have to leave this incomplete someway. It is funny how we struggle with life and learn from the contrasts at best. For the rest, I leave as though gossips that are untold and in stories that will unfold.

Funny How
Funny how the crescent moon still takes a peak
Looking out for the night, as though waiting for it to sleep
Or how it says goodbye in the middle of the dream
As you lie awake hoping to go right back to the scene

The moments that I climb up and down the stairs
As though looking for something and not knowing where
While the hours come together & the hourglass hits play
Our thoughts as they align, during the passing of a day

Funny how these songs that are stuck in our head
You whistle them time to time and I hum them instead
How life is more of passing that staying still
Holding on to dreams you don't remember at free will

Old friend on the side notes of paper diaries
Are you lost at times just like me?
Or have the crumpled pages and writings remained
Have they somehow refused to simply age