and he's gone.

he's...

gone. like the summer wind

with its sweet smell of mangoes

and dust under harsh sun

he's gone like winter weather

with its grey snow

and boot prints

he comes, and then he goes

the seasons await his cue

but even spring frowns

once in a while

when he leaves only his shadow

on the technicolour grass

and bubbling water

crunchy amber leaves,

migrating white birds and their

call for the young ones to follow

the shutters of the sky closing

all echo his absence

the wind whispers

desperately, his name-

and there he emerges

like a new day

from the guts of the horizon

just to be lost once more...

---

-Samjam

I'm in an extreme poetry rut so posting old, randomly strung-together text messages (24/12/23) to push myself. Thanks for reading.

Toods!