There's something beautiful about the rain. The sound it makes as it hits hard surfaces. The way it slides down the windows. The smell of the earth... clean. The darkness of a grey sky. It calms me down. It makes me feel alright.

You will not see my shadow pass
the gate of mournings eerie dark
Nor hear my voice among the reeds
that grow above my silenced heart
No fondest kiss to furrowed brow
to quell the torment of your making
for you have left me here alone
to sleep the sleep that knows no waking.

I am the moment before the sun
I am the light you see on a dark moon
I am the eye of a typhoon

I taught the birds to fly
I taught the child to ask why
Who am I

I put the steps into caterpillars
Showed the leaves how to fall
Tore down every wall

I ran with the Buffalo
Dove with the whales
Know who I am then do tell

I am the dirt beneath your feet
The sky so tall
I am the fly upon your wall

I am the ache in your head
The pain in your heart
I know when to end  , when to start

Who am I

With your bottom resting on me
you roam the world of poetry
display spectrum of your poetic mood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I hold your frame over day and night
weight of your spirit soaring to height
your struggle to find in all only good
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I rest your arms on my armrest
for your comfort I do my best
see you don't fall when in deep brood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

For years my touch has kept you at peace
carried you safe seated with ease
when empty yawns the space I stood
is it then you would realize worth of my wood?

I met the man by chance on that riverside town.

The only one around at the deserted strand
I asked him the shortest way out
after I had my fill of the river.

He told me about the fish market
where the fresh catches arrive every morn
and the place ten minutes farther north
where if I slowed down
could catch the magnificent spectacle
of the orange orb thirstily dipping in the river
and if I stayed back for the night
would surely go insane
when the moon sets the river on silver fire
but if I was really intent on leaving
a half hour's drive would get me the highway.

I was thinking of the amazing mathematical probability
of my traveling over three hours to see the river
and his traveling ten minutes on a bicycle
to fetch his son from school on that riverside town
for our once-a-lifetime meeting on the life's highway
and then having him a permanent visitor in my memory
at sunsets and moonrises over the river.