Hidden Flowers In The Rain



Last night I dreamt standing in rain

holding a new sprout from an old root


in my cupped hands

Hands that have touched many salty waters.


Remembering flooded rivers and mud flats

Along the edges of tide and sirens

Rusty tanks, empty bullet cartridges,

And silent hunger.


I was born close to the skin of the earth

Where the road disappeared during monsoon

And the parched earth bubbled in mud.

The old roots are eager to grow a new seedling


Rain falls in grey daylight

I can’t name the sprout in my hands

It lives only in the cavity of my dream.


The rain falls in unbroken threads

Jumps back up stretching arms in the air

When it reaches puddles on the ground.


Even though the rain drops are busy

In shaping and washing the landscape


They still have time to tell me

I am an unnamed hidden flower

In the rain and dust

On the skin of the earth.

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