PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Knowing that it rained heavily while I was at home and I did not even know about it made me soberly grieve to the extent of spending eight hours before the dumb screen of the T.V. How can I miss rain? How can I miss feeling these pure, cold droplets hitting the warm gates of my face? To make it up for myself, I went out in my balcony at 1:00 AM. "You are going to catch a cold" I told myself with a careless smile. I barely noticed those words because I started cheering up with the coldness outside. Oh, how much I enjoy quiet, cold nights! I roamed around with my thoughts thinking why people hate the word "cold." Every word has a negative as well as a positive connotation. "Cold feelings" are definitely undesirable, but "cold weather" is a blessing! All my friends do not agree with the second part of my sentence. Well, someone told me that I was born in the wrong country. But I love Egypt's weather even its summer with its hot days and suffocating nights; they just keep me yearning more eagerly and earnestly for the beautiful, peaceful winter nights.



I noticed a dim light at the top of a distant building. "What is the story behind this light?" I wondered thinking that behind each light, and darkness, lied a yet untold story." Is it a story of strife, pain," I whispered, "or love?" A hesitant sigh escaped my cold lips. I pushed my head out of the balcony to be more exposed to the cold breeze that I willingly and heartily let lighten my burden of thoughts.



Palm trees! How come I have never noticed there were palm trees in the garden lying 10 meters away from my building?! I guess we get used to the scenes around us that we stop seeing altogether. I feared I might get used to my face in the mirror that one day I would not recognize it as my own. I passed my fingers on my restless features trying to portray a mental image of my face in my memory.



How fresh everything looked after rain? I withdrew with sorrowful steps to my warm room leaving the window open, hoping that the sacred cold winds of the night might blow upon me while sleeping, wiping the rust off my bones and the rottenness off my flesh ... hoping I would be born again.