Rain
It trickled down the railings,
with the smell of junk,
amidst the dead brown iron,
were hints of green life.
Thirst, emptiness, infinity,
still a lot to do, a lot to walk,
over the stale wood and the broken glass.
Many things are lost,
life, passions and possessions.
In between lips and wrinkles,
seems to be a story,
struggles, unsuccessful days,
few dreams, a love song,
some papers, a prayer
and now the last drops of the rain.
Copyright © Bidhu Patnaik | Year Posted 2013
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