Longing and Belongings

It's not without reason that it rained that day. Those winter clouds were paler than my dead grandmother's face. The wet blanket, which the morning air wrapped around my sleepless back, bore no pearls. The ever cribbing qualm that sings the separation of leaving me to love me wrote those broken words in those striped stones, Sutlej gave them to me. "Start again, let go of the bygones - The simple is not meant to be complicated. If you're walking your grave through, walk alone." The body craves as the soul does and only more. Yet the constructs of love keep me waiting for the impossibility of being felt the way I want. The poet sang for the wingless bird which longs to fly and fly away. Images from a half shut door of the unvanquished spirit keep my dreams alive even when the winter clouds turned paler than my dead grandmother's face.