A Very Short Prose about Rain

Rain is the most inspiring phenomenon in life. More than volcano, more than meteor traveling as a shooting star. Rain is blessing for the earth.

10. It is He who sends down rain from the sky: from it ye drink, and out of it (grows) the vegetation on which ye feed your cattle. 11. With it He produces for you corn, olives, date-palms, grapes and every kind of fruit: verily in this is a sign for those who give thought.
(An-Nahl 16:10-11)

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And rain is blessing for the heart and mind. Especially mine.

Everytime it rains, it feels like I can draw a thousand words. About everything: About reality or reverie. About the present, or memories. About life, or suicide.

That is because rain helps me to feel more about everything: Warmer about the chill. More painful about pain. More lonely about being heartbroken, and far from home.

That is because, when it rains, everything becomes blurry so I don’t believe my vision as much as usual.
That’s when I sense my favorite:
the tone of raindrops,
the smell of wet ground,
the chill of the still,
and the taste of coffee.

I believe in you, Michael. The way I believe in Azrael.

This Morning was Perfect

This morning was perfect:

News was bad,
sky was dark,
bread was stale

Empty plate and dirty spoon,
rippled shirts and dusty window,
the old gramophone,
and swinging sixties melody

Nothing was in the right place;

My red heels,
our black & white Polaroid,
my mind

This morning was perfect.
Let’s get out of this city
Don’t die today
I’m calling you