## 09 Rain

Another morning with drops on my hands,  
when opening the shutters on the garden.  
They are falling on the windows with gusts of wind.  
drawing messages for the child I was for another night.  
I'm looking the street on the other side :  
Dozens of mirrors let on the ground,  
and the moon saying good bye to the clouds.  
The music of the rain is just whispering.  
I turn on the radio and no more musical notes.  
Just a calm voice declaiming catastrophes and tragedies : 
Rain in the south and in the west of the country,  
floods and power outages, regions as hostages.  
Some says we are punished for our excesses,  
but it's always drops and tears on the wrong faces.  
Is it a child that I see on the glass, when the sun finally shines  ?
I wipe away the mist and draw circles with my fist.  
The rain intensifies, defying me to go to walk.  
Why not ? It's only water on my hairs and my back.  
Not even boots are necessary, when it's a boat 200km away.  
I'm not singing in the rain, playing with puddles like a child.
Drops on my cheeks, and memories of good days. 
Just another rain for this morning. Another day without her.  
A shadow in the window and I will go back tonight,  
not knowing much of tommorow, except for the pain.

2Dɛ
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