The Cloud of Memories

Gathered uninvited

Clouding the dawn of

A new day,

With dusty, molten colours

From ages long dead.

It hangs low,

An impending disaster

To disrupt the work of a day.

It isn’t raining yet,

But no umbrella

Was invented

To stop the downpour

Of memories from old boxes,

Drenching the heart,

Wooing it to sing

A lullaby, to make the present sleep.

Not dark or grey;

A riot of colours

Spill, tumble,

Shrieking with joy,

As my hands touch

The softest

Of those raindrops.

I stand, breathe and get soaked beautifully.