The Snowflake Chronicles

Writing Poems In The Rain

7 Mashiyyat 163 B.E. – October 3, 2006

"Invalid Entry"  the words fall from charcoal clouds.

Lightning flashes strikes the gourd
or does lightning move the other way around.

Thunder rumbles reverberating
echoing sparks of memory.

Random words,
unsystematic thoughts
scatter sparks of regret.

I am inside
writing poems in the rain,
outside the sun is shining,
the birds are singing,
the world is happy with itself or someone else.

Rain isn’t a physical phenomena,
it’s a memory from yesterday,
swirling out of a category 5 tornado
of selfish desires.

I am alone,
but not alone –
why is it that my happiness
is dependent of someone else
or something else
when I know that
happiness, contentment, joy
isn’t a physical experience
like rain or thunder or tornados –
daily my mood changes
from light to dark to cloudy gray
for no apparent reason except …

Except that the act of writing,
like the act of prayer,
like the act of meditation,
like the act of reading the sacred scriptures
transforms my mood
changes the direction of my desires –
awakening occurs
I realize that it is my self-image
that needs changing.

Why is it that transformation takes so long?
The caterpillar doesn’t become a butterfly overnight,
anymore than the broken spirit learns to fly
on one wing.

Healing is a process,
transformation a journey
and writing poems in the rain
becomes a journal entry
for the soul injured in childhood
by the passions of a trusted adult
drunk with power.