THE MOST RAINED

Kushal Poddar

The most rained morning,

muted crackling, vapor rising

from the leftover riot of silence,

my siren hand pierces

your stupor of dream.

"South of being burns", I say,

and you ask, "Where

will we find a leeway 

for our offsprings?"

I know not. Rain tiptoes,

fails and falls midst 

two icebergs melting apart -

the time we perceive and

the time that holds us within.