Yet another rain drop, but its my lens to the world.
Sweet when it rains, salty when it flows over the soil of time.
Chronicles an alluvium of nostalgia and scars.
My home in the virtual world, I fondly call it, The White Bougainvillea.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
A bouncing drop of water,
Rebellious graffiti under the bridge,
Adamant rain in the sun,
And the moth rushing into a flame;
Show signs of life to me,
Tell me my senses are still alive.