It’s been a while since the rain stopped.

A moment ago the town fell in the muck.

Raising itself on its hands,

leaning on a staff,

stepping gingerly on a brick,

supported by a bamboo pole,

the town straightens up slowly

and struggles to its feet.

It’s been a while since the rain stopped.

It is still wiping the sweat

from its temple and forehead.

Dreams come to this town…

no matter how much you shut them out,

the dreams still find their way in

and leave behind the address

of some place prosperous.

The town chases the dream,

and walking fast in its sleep,

quickly covers some way

to a distant place.

Then suddenly it stumbles

upon a sun in its path,

and hurts its knee,

its naked elbows bleed.

At the dead end of the present

and a wall of sorrow and hunger, it stops.

The road it travels at night,

 it slides back

on that very road

as day arrives.

And so, it starts from here

and always ends up here…

(and then one day)

The night has gone…

the town sits cross-legged,

Socratic, deep in thought.

No one listens, no one talks,

no lines of joy on its face

nor any lines of pain.

Maybe it has seen the reason

 for the dead end of the present

or is blinded by the future it saw –

or, maybe, it stumbled again today.            

It’s been a long while since the rain stopped.

Image: https://www.pexels.com/photo/black-and-white-photo-of-man-with-umbrella-3299386/