distraction

The flight

She stared at the map for the few short moments that it took for him to fold the paper plane.

It flew across the flat globe and off to the tungsten sun.

She stared.

It dove towards the wooden plains, but instead landed by the black ocean in a coffee cup.

It rained on the carpet as the umbrella dropped near her feet.

She broke apart the plane. She had half expected a penned message, or little passengers, but it was blank.

She turned to him. He shrugged.

She crumpled.

Just...

Just that... that's all.

Is summer winning, really ?

She comes breaking through the ice
Smothering the earth with her brilliance
Loving it back to life again
Softening the cold hearth

Even the clouds want in
melting in her warmth
raining down
on fresh delicate beginnings

Puddles are born
and then they die
where they go
they return as ice

And the sun spends endless hours
up there in the sky
so busy, ignoring
the heat waves

soon the call of the South
pulls down the sun
days grow shorter
and winter comes.

Tasnim

drip drop

rain, the weathermen had promised. the clouds arrived in the night, yet they kept all the drops for themselves, for the sky, oblivious of the earth's dryness, of the news forecast.

at noon, she went outside, and opened the lid of the water tank. she looked up to the sky one more time, one last time. then she filled the bucket, and made the way through the garden, knowing from past experience that it would start to drizzle just 5 minutes after she finished.

and it did, for whatever reason.

inspired by tuesday's reality and the pearls of dawn

pearls of dawn