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  • Writer's picturelperskie

The Birds Don't Sing in the Rain

The birds don’t sing in the rain

sadness weighs in puddles

that distort light,

I exhale the fog

of inexplicable pain-

the pitter patter turns

into a relentless storm

I seek shelter -respite

from the torrents of self

the pitiless patterns of thought

the vanities and attachments

that burden me so.

I don’t see the birds

but I know they are safe

they are always unpacked

ready in an instant

to soar to freedom

from any threat

easily finding where

every need is met.

I want to perch with them

pause in safety

In their carefree whereabout

and watch the rain sweep away

these worries, this past

that bind me to a shelter

of false self, protecting me

from pain by stilling life

and containing sadness

that never evaporates.

I notice the rain subsides

and a bird hidden in the mist trills-

a child of the sky and voice of sweetness

survived the punching thunder and

storms that broke the arms of trees

outlining consciousness with light

it arose so lightly after the downpour

and sings again, promising I am here

I might find a way to trill again

and fly without a care.


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