Category: Poems

The loss may not be great,
For I have stared death, in the face,
And even he did not suffer
To stay too long in one place.

Much like the rain drop
That drops, from the turbulent sky:
She knows not much of where she falls,
On whom, or what, or why –

The sky loses her –
Yet is not diminished by this loss;
Though he is mindful of each drop
And the weight of what it costs.

So I give you up, like he does;
It’s how and what we become that matters:
Your water is bound for withered earth,
While lightning in me, shatters.