I wait for the rain to fall this night,
A rain that will not come; a
Thunderous downpour beating down
On zinc rooftops, filling the large, metal
Rain barrels that are opened for occasions
Such as this, the kind which frighten
Dogs under houses or to the undesirable indoors.
Some wait for the physical water,
The necessary current of the quotidian reality.
Others of the population wait for more
Subtle elements of the rainfall,
Of the kind which wash away the
Anguish of failure, misstep, misdeed, misery;
Those elements capable of drowning lament
And floating an arc of a new dawn,
A new chance, a new birth from the bowels
Of a self-pursuit that feels more like
The sons of Dasaratha chasing down the
Demons of the unwelcoming Dandaka forest.
I wait for the rain.
