Rain And Reality Poem by Philip Emmanuel Penaflor

I was awakened by the solemn pitter-patter of the rain
which sounded like the monks' early Gregorian vespers;
no joyful chirping of the humming birds at daybreak,
no yelling ladies selling bread as their morning ritual;
I imagined the sun shivering inside the dark gray clouds
eerily expanding as if wanting to engulf the whole sky.

The coffee I left untouched last night looked dejected as
I felt I have lost my craving for that old Ethiopian brew;
Was it the crickets' melancholic chanting that mesmerized
my weary mind to sleep without turning off my laptop?
Or was it the enigma of your sweet smile that haunted my
dream as I saw your shadow fade until you were gone?

It's either that I've been reading Milan Kundera too much,
or I'm poor at quoting philosophers quoting philosophers
that I'm led to believe that philosophy is just anachronistic
of the present where I must overcome my own naivete;
Shall I walk into the rain to numb the coldness in my soul?
Or shall I warm back my coffee to wake me up to reality?