A Settling Storm

I wonder if there is a storm

On that side

Of my mother's eyes.

I look and talk like him,

They say.

This side,

echoes a memorized sound of the rains

As heard from a closed room.

Innumerable unnamed alleys

In-between the still apparition and her eyes

Like an Old city,

where a traveler loses his way. 

I can recall the storm

and the smell of childhood within.

Dishes undone and books read,

bad quality paint in the bedroom

And I still get the bigger slice of cake.

I know the storm

on the other side of my Mother's eye.

This side 

I can only wait for the rains.