The dry lands, let's out fuming flames,
a reaction triggered by the skies rapid rain game,
I would run in or I would be rained in, out and in,
The cloistered space I stand feels like a tin of sin.
Muffled whispers, inner screams, alike crazy souls.

Like the bright spot of the moon, a light,
all the darkness, no eyes catch the sight,
a gulp of emptiness down my throat, it's not a delight.
A child holding a child, barefoot, faint tintinnabulation,
midst uncertain pitter patter, brewing tribulation.

A mother, clad in faded clothes, my grandmother would throw away,
the rain drenched...