Nyein Way (19.1.1962 / Yangon)
Rains in my rooms
Trodding over the margins of my body
Drainage systems of my identities
Where are my belongings?
She is teasing my discomforts of connections
With the bridge we don't know.
Told by the ancient man coming out of the colourless cave.
Read poems about / on: rain
Comments about this poem (Plain Pains by Nyein Way )
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