Schizophrenic Sky

spears of sunshine come
stabbing through wayward
branches. and the wind is cold
in my face, almost erratic.
it shakes massive
jackfruits to the ground. my
walkway is pulp-splashed,
and this lazy drizzle does little
to wash it clean. sprinkling
soundlessly like fine sand -
dusk-colored and oozing
out of this schizophrenic sky;
touching everything, drenching nothing.

my garden is a messy emulsion.
enough earth but too little rain.
enough water but no real mud.
i am not looking forward to a rainbow,
for it will be dark before it breaks.
an electrocuted crow falls to the
pavement; feathers ruffled and claws
turned inwards in death. it’s one
distorted rainy evening, i wonder.
all i am hopeful is about the petrichor.
but the drizzle hangs on grass blades
like evanescent mist, too light on the
gleaming green spine to go down to
earth and break the fragrance free.
is this even real? i frown.

then
i remember your naked body against mine.
damp. just out of shower.
the sensuous odour of your floral bodywash
permeate through sheets
to become my breath.
i had felt ‘us’ on my fingertips
treading down the knobs
of your slender back; on my lips
in salty memories of mouthful kisses.

just so you know,
i sleep alone in that bed now.
becoming increasingly privy to rains
that fall without filling.

- Sobhan