Dead storms.

The storm is all dead, Instantaneously gone, Shattered by the winds: Broken glass in lucid hands, capturing sun rays alone. ~ for storms will come, and storms will go, but you will make the sun shine bright on yourself with the very things that your storms will break…

The stream

A broken heart,Bleeds tears.But it’s thoseUnder her eyes,That fascinate meThe most.How they crashOnto her skinFrom the oceanOf her eyes.Raindrops,From the stormsWithin her.How they glistenLike a streamIn the fall.Only a stream:Is full of water.Her tears:Full of words.Words:That weave poetry,As they trickle.Down her chin.Into the etchings,Of my palms. © Shanyu Bihani 2020 This is a follow-up poem…

The Cache

They say diamonds never breakAnd yet her heart,When it did,The golden of her hair –Rustled.Her ruby lips –Quivered.Her deep set pair of obsidian –Glistened.AndBrine traced its way.Across the silver.Of her skin.Forming along its way –A pearl.Washed ashore.On the granite.Of my hands.