“Sadness rages like a great fire, though in mind, there is no wood.
A storm of tears pours down ceaselessly, though in the sky of my eyes there are no clouds.” *
– Shabkar
* In an eureka: https://www.lionsroar.com/when-sadness-rages-like-fire/#_ftn1
Two dancing light yellow butterflies
to welcome me home today
Fortunate stranger I have become
to meet you in the drain
Sun burning my skull
and fingers going numb
with stiff smiles are gone with
paralytic realms mirroring
a silent disgrace that doesn’t say
name or age or weight or shape
because it has to be forgotten
to fit.
Smiling big stranger I have become
by seeing your graceful swift dances
from grassy island on sea of concrete
to small flowery tower
about to poke the nearest cloud
for rain.
If I hadn’t fallen for a robber a while ago
and found rober* in the dictionary tonight
I might still be thinking of you.
Time says NO SMOKING in the rain
dripping leaves
as we sing under a sky of trees.
* Rober: v. t. entourer les cigares d’une feuille extérieure, dite robe (Larousse)
chameleonian times 