Slicked-down pavements and washed-clean trees,

Flowers, leaves quenched off their thirst.

A whistling, shivering, chilly breeze while to the skies,

Opalescent clouds roar their defiance. 

Water tracing its path down a thatched roof, 

Down walls of mud,

Coalescing in a bowl of stone, 

Causing its own flood.

Freshly-washed laundry that is now freshly-drenched

Hangs precariously on plastic pegs.

Embroidered in the cloth I see

Tea dregs of my old memory.

And as the rain feeds the earth and consolidates 

In fractured fractions, 

I see in this water forsaken

Tears running down my own reflection.

Salinity takes colour, takes shape,

Turns into smeared paint caressing your face.

Metamorphic as always, it shifts into iridescent ash; remember?

It littered your eyelashes as you stared at the remnants of your old life turning to cinders in the fire’s dying embers.

I miss your heart, beating to the rhythm of a waterfall;

Your soul, flowing like a river along;

Your life, it screamed for “Water!” loud as it could, 

But no one heard, and now you’re seeped in the mud.