make me sing

make me sing

i was never a singer,
but when your darkest clouds hailed
scattering splinters all over my midnight sky
i sang.
a primitive melody
escaping centuries, forgoing restrain
and so heavy.
from fragrance, melancholy or lyrics
i’ll never know.

now i'm rummaging my memories,
parched for its tune
do you remember it's chords?
is it whistling in you?
if i waited a moontime
will you make me sing again.
. . .

thursday, midnight
the sixteenth
bhādra