Buckets of Rain...

I'll write to you of my days here-

How I ration out a little of myself to the dust everyday,

And how I master the art of staring at these red walls.

I'll write to you about the rains-

How they break and make

And how they break again.

I'll write to you of these songs-

How they stay stuck to my head

And how they all have no words.

I'll write to you of the poetry these men write-

How they sometimes lack in metre,

And how they sometimes make sense.

I'll write you of the women here-

How safe they feel behind their layers of Khadi

And with their heads of unkempt hair.

I'll also write to you of the voices in my head-

How they tell tales in unknown tongues

And sing long forgotten songs.

I'll write to you...

One of these days.