Here comes the rain

Here comes the rain by eve.ps
     Here comes the rain a photo by eve.ps on Flickr.
Raindrops falling
like broken glass
reminders of the past ... 

     When people die, people close to us, loved and cherished.. people we thought they would live forever.. a part of us dies, too. We feel the shock of the sudden loss and then we feel lost ourselves... overwhelmed by our own thoughts and feelings too wide and too deep to handle sometimes... anger, blame of all those things that we missed to say or do, blame to the world, to God, to ourselves... and then, the pain... and the grief... and seas of tears over unanswered 'whys' and endless 'whatifs'... We think it will never go away, that we are all alone in this, since no one can truly understand the kind of loss we are experiencing - not by choice - and no word seems good enough or comforting enough to heal it away...

But, then, something strange happens, something that we never thought it would: time takes over smoothing edges and all the words of comfort come back along with memories reminding us of all the joy and warmth and the moments that were there all along, precious moments in time shared with our loved ones, that we never gave a second thought by the time they happened, small things, an expression, a word, a detail.. re-appearing out of the blue, giving back the lost perspective, retutning us the smile to our face, right where it belongs, same as before, yet so different at the same time.. heart-felt, honest and meaningful.. and then we realize that all our feelings have come to evolve like that, towards this direction.. to maturity? it could... Like a closure of a circle and a beginning of a new one? that, too... and it feels like it all comes together like pieces of the same picture.. and we realize that it had to be this way, since no matter how hard it is when it happens, the point is that it takes death to appreciate life.. a beginning rising from an end...


tricky, tricky life, right?...



People that we truly love, they never go away, do they.. they keep on been there in another form this time, but still.. does it matter? I don't think it does, since they live on in our hearts and in our minds as the best in us, as our wisdom, our kindness, integrity and all the good parts within ourselves that make us who we are.. especialy the parents... I tend to believe that parents never leave us kids, not even when they die. They continue been there as our guardian angels for as long as we need them to.. and that makes it all right I guess...


Γράφτηκε στα αγγλικά, επειδή το σκεφτόμουν στα αγγλικά.. ήθελα να το αναρτήσω στο flickr, γι' αυτό.


4 σχόλια:

Roadartist είπε...

Τι όμορφη φωτογραφία :)

Βασίλης είπε...

Τα χρώματα οι αντανακλάσεις
Οι αντικατοπτρισμοί
Οι μπαλαρίνες της βροχής,…


Κι εκεί την ώρα που σφράγιζε το κλείστρο
μια μελωδία μ’ άρπαξε τα χέρια :

Μια ησυχία
ακούγονται οι ψιχάλες
η σκουριά καθώς σφίγγει τ’ άρμπουρα
το τρίξιμο απ’ τ’ αλάτι
στο σκεβρωμένο ξύλο να φωλιάζει

Σβησμένες φωνές
απ’ τους γλάρους
τα δάκρυα κλωστές
απ’ τους απόμαχους ψαράδες
και τα σχισμένα δίχτυα τους

κουφάρια στους κάβους
που δέσανε για πάντα

τ’ άδειο πανέρι
οι θύμισες σταγόνες
στην υγρή έκταση να απλώνουν

κι η ζεστασιά απ’ το χαμόγελο τους,
αιχμάλωτα τα μάτια
στην απώλεια να θολώνουν…

Σ’ ευχαριστούμε Ευαγγελία

Ευαγγελία είπε...

@ Roadartist

Χαίρομαι που σου αρέσει, την καλησπέρα μου!

@ Βασίλης

Το ποίημα είναι ένα αριστούργημα.. ό,τι ήθελα να εκφράσω σε εικόνα, το κατέθεσες σε λέξεις!.. Δεν θα μπορούσε να είχε γίνει με καλύτερο τρόπο: δυο μορφές τέχνης σε μυστική συνομιλία :-)
Να' σαι καλά Βασίλη - εγώ σ' ευχαριστώ.
Για το δώρο, για την συγκίνηση...

Talisker Stt. είπε...

..ston patera poy xathike nwris..