Rain on my tongue.
Threshing floor of pebbled camwood,
Then hidden faces and strange footsteps
On slaughter slabs, eyes swirling
Across the uncharted silence.
Thrust of faltering lips-Now,
I could hear the whispers
Of the dark hour
And I taste this mint of my tears.
My tears! ! Facing the odds of life. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.