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Storm Clouds


false friend,
nuage d'orage,
scent of distant rain.
here the land lies
parched,
arid,
empty
of all but dust
and hope
while the horizon
tantalizes,
teasing,
mocking,
while wells and reservoirs
run dry.

just a few drops
would soothe my thirst,
wet another week
of wishing,
hoping,
longing
for things that cannot be,
but no salvation
from the sky,
deus ex nubi,
(caritas),
will be mine
today.

seco
sitis
siccitas
I approach the empty cistern
with a storm cloud in my heart.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

6 comments:

Charleen said...

I like the deepness of your poem and its foreignness.

June 8, 2013 at 11:49 PM
Berowne said...
















Skillful and sharp...










June 9, 2013 at 3:27 PM
Alice Audrey said...

Such richness in the gathering clouds. Cool.

June 10, 2013 at 12:23 AM
oldegg said...

You rather fooled me with the French and Latin! (I was expecting Spanish). We are so complacent these days with water supply. It is good to be reminded how difficult it would be when the cistern runs dry. P.S Berowne's words are clearly in an arid landscape.

June 10, 2013 at 9:31 PM
Ann (bunnygirl) said...

@old egg: Spanish is easier for me because I use it daily, but it didn't flow here.

June 10, 2013 at 9:41 PM
Alice Audrey said...

But don't cry over it or you'll end up even more thirsty.

June 11, 2013 at 5:27 PM