Patterns of Dying

 

The despair does not end!

Slow and un-steady,

It walks, re-generates, dys-appears and disappears-

Building a pattern of pain,

A loop of Nothingness,

Repeating the sameness.

In what language does patterns speak?

My grandmother would say, "Superstition".

The scattered cognitive pattern 

Of rain falling on my neighbor's roof,

One pair of legs ahead of me in all of my evening strolls

And the sunset passing my window. Everyday.

Repetitions do not have light.

How do I translate my urgency to translate this repetition?

Editing and Re-editing talk in patterns too!

The trees want rain.

I want rain in a different language.

Translatable or differently un-translatable.

In a different city,

from a different sky.

Without the rain,

soon I shall run out of my memorized happiness

like the dead loses memory of life.