Your face I touch, it is hot and dry
Warm and ever moist deep, down inside
Clouds that cover dawn a face withdrawn
Weeping in view, my finger circles drew
When will it rain, let it come down, let it rain
I can not continue, tree top's hanging down
Green bushes, Green leaves, can now finally breath
When will it rain, the air is moist, moody and wet
Each cloud filled day, each face is grey
Rain fills each cup, outside until it's full
When it does finally rain, it runs down off her face
Like cheap mascara
Weeping in view disintegrates the mask in its essence to become transparent. Lost trees leave the shadows of life in falling leaves. Tis not the springtime.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love that simile at the end. The question itself makes us feel the drought might not be just of rain but other needs. Best.