THOSE WERE THE DAYS

I looked up at the dark sky, searching for the Gods.
The roads below were wet,
Sparkling fresh from the afternoon rain.
‘Why do you drench me with those cold drops?’ I ask them.
‘Is this a blessing?
Or do you wet my eyes with fresh tears,
That have gone dry under the dust, the toil.’

Those were the days, when I made merry.
Sang under the trees, danced with the leaves,
And laughed when you hid the sun in your closet,
To bathe the earth with relentless shower.
Those were the days, when I wrote on the leaflets,
In tune with your seasons, the winds and the storms.
I used to lie still on the wet grass,
The cold dew nudging my skin,
Forcing a smile on my lips.
Then she would wake me with a kiss, the girl I loved.
I would sit on the grass, holding her hand
And we would bask under the warm sun, so fresh and bright.

Gone are the days, when I would run up the hills,
And sing along with the birds that flew home.
When I plucked those red apples in the dusk
And waived at the sun as it returned to its nest.
Gone are the days, when I would cycle down to the dunes
And play with the sand as it slipped through my fingers.
When I would watch the moon play with the stars,
And stay up all night, not worrying for the morrow.

Now as the raindrops slide through my temples,
I wonder if those days have returned.
But when I touch the wet grass blades,
They cut into my tender skin, don’t tickle me anymore.
The cold dew clings to my eyes, and melts in the heat,
And as I shy away from the bright sun, I realize
That I am not as young as I used to be.

Is this the end?

Will I never be able to play with the rain again?
Or laugh when the wet leaves would brush against my skin?
Will I shine in the sand under the bright red sun?
Or will my skin wilt under the blistering heat?
As I lie crouched in a corner of my room, I wonder
If my fingers would ever tremble under a beloved’s touch,
Or dance in the air like the lovely stripes of a rainbow.
The thoughts come and go, the rain becomes a myth.
I strain my ears to hear the evening birds’ hark,
And yearn to smell the red roses, fresh from the rains.

But the earth seems as dark as my solitude,
Denied of emotions, of love and of sense.
I yearn for the morrow, a new day with new hope.
Of renewed love, of smelling the fragrant roses again.
Of singing with the winds and the sun,
And make the trees and the birds dance
To my new-found melody.