Droplets

Tonight! it rains heavily on the flesh of a tousled earth. Torrents of metaphors clapping; crooked symbols dropping 1 am, the long wooden wall-clock chimes The body ruthlessly too dead to weigh on the wetness of untethered hope at a crossroad; Waves of laughter eagerly waiting for the dying thunderclaps; they must not come from the old mud house. That's a mask! Ụdị had just roofed a new house And the soul weary of fresh recollection Of sounds, waves, and fury at once; then, not a protection, but a signal to a new quest! Yet now the house is booted awake By the rhythmic gymnastics Of shame trying to escape the downpour. Night after night, he's funnelled the drizzles But tonight comes with a tense quarrel of fate Like a thunder torrent, threatening to uncap the new roof. But if the night lingers, does the dream not die?