Lukewarm water, noisy faucets, dirty sinks and rusty tubs;
Old pluming, dusty shelves, stained windows and broken wood,
All of this and then some more are around me, feeling sore.
Live and breathe, try as I might, anywhere and everywhere
Only bees are still alright.
Close my eyes, shut off my senses, kill my mind
Automatize.
Feel the sorrow, cry the pain; sense the mud, experiment.
Draw the curtains, turn off the light,
So I can just feel alright.
Heavy eyelids, shivering limbs, warm tears; and trembling lips;
Dry hands and chipped, short nails; messy, curly, chestnut hair,
All of this and then some more are part of me, I’m feeling sore.

[photo: www.revolutionapparel.deviantart.com/]

On a rainy day, two people are walking hand-in-hand down an alley, all wet and cold. They are there, in the middle of this storm, but nothing can make them walk any faster, hurry them along or destroy their rhythm. If the sun was shining and the wind was blowing steadily on a beautiful spring day, they would have maintained this same pace, because no matter what, they are on a walk.

Five streets away, a little beggar girl is trying with all her might to hide a small stray cat in the folds of her ripped sweater. She is sitting at a corner of an isolated street, between cardboards and pieces of old clothes, where the water can’t get so easily, wanting to be as far away from the rain as possible. That corner is her home, or at least has been for the last 3 weeks. She is lonely and scared, but not for herself, because she knows that she can handle anything, but for the little life in her hands, that is shivering strongly, or maybe they are her shivers.

On another narrow street, not even 50 meters from the little girl, an old woman is on her hands and knees in the ever rising water. On the pavement, in front of her are bits and pieces of old papers and materials. She is trying to gather them all back in the wooden box in her hand. But everything is pointless; the water is soaking them fast, blurring the writhing and ruining the soft materials. The moment she picks up one of the black and white photos, the paper in her trembling wrinkled hand disintegrates, and the image is lost forever. The smiling faces, the happy memories are all fading now, with the water washing all over them. The tears in her eyes mingle with the raindrops, while she tries pointlessly to pick everything up.

Two alleys down the road, an old man is struggling to get away from the pouring rain. He can’t walk without his cane, which now, because of the wet pavement, is even harder to use. He is sick, so very sick, and pneumonia would be deadly for his weakening body. But he knows that no matter how fast he will try, his house is much too far away. He forgot to take his pills an hour ago, and now he is here, caught in the storm. He is continuously repeating in his mind that he has to take his medicine as soon as he gets home; but he will forget again, and because he is now soaked to the bones, his neighbor will have to call the doctor again tonight, one last time.

On a rainy day…

[photo: www/flickr.com/photos/greenka2000/1651247515/ ]