When Tears Are Drooping Poem by Bruce Gashirabake

While the moving world passes by,
The white lilies sprout round,
The sweet smelling wind edifies,
But to that I remain stagnant.

To these feelings I remain unresponsive,
To think that I want it,
Shortens breath and stops my world,
For rainfall to remain in suspension.

As the blue sun creeps nigh,
So does this well of uncertainty,
Getting filled faster than it drains,
And all around resonates: what shall I do?

While cold words are uttered,
And the discouraging effect intensifies,
The liveliness of everything ever known fades,
In the light of the un-success.

To the singing birds I would say,
Sing your dear melodies while in time,
Before your voices become crooked,
Or your lyrical, vocal strings get detached,
Before the Setter of fate declares the end,
And the joyful songs are no more to be sung.

Unto the bright shining sun I admonish,
Sparkle yellow and white before redness creeps nigh,
To every ray attach a message of joy,
To each photon declare the flourishing euphoria,
Before an umbra envelops all those sparks,
Or the sky swallows that light so raw,
For that message, cheerful and magnificent, never to be heard.

We always work and drain our bodies of this liquid in excess,
All in oblivion we heighten our hopes,
And sometimes, the yield is despicable- close to nothing!
We furrow our brows in utter shock.
But all the time echoed in the dirge of this wind,
Is the clear absence of eternal rainfall.