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I’m here begging for rain from a barren desert. My stupid soul is talking to the sand, waiting for a grain to release a drop when I know it can’t then maybe now its not the time, another time. I can search for an oasis and my mind creates a mirage of water, that’s close to my lips, in vain hope that disappears as I reach it. My life is time, sand slipping through the time glass. I do know the way to the river but its too long and too hard.
Meadows and plains dried up. A remnant of a stream is in the basin which slowly hardened into brick. This is what I’ll become in my own house if you won’t let me cry in rivers, my soul out.