The wanderer soul

It’s raining outside,

And there is a carcass of my rendering pain,

an oak tree and shallow brook,

running through my gilded cage.

The palm leaves that fell off in autumn,

And the rays of sunlight that broke in with a pang,

Evades my love to it,

Unworthy of the sheath that it waited for long.

Her memories were poems, her love so true,

Her eyes that wandered on her knuckles and waded time,

Her fingers that sped through her knotted curls,

All to the raincloud that led her mind.

A spark of reality, a speck of time,

Its been a year and yet so divine,

I’d see the way it had been in a flash,

and I must say, the dew is afresh.