Lengthy paragraphs in the book can be warning or a fantasy
The thick and thin books and references of those in directory
One such thin book that I got my hands on has a little story
It narrates of a place in the city and woman who's just lonely
Slightly discolored that she has inherited from her mommy
Picture of a time when the rain fell for countless days
Staring out from a window is a blue under her tired eye
As a watermark on the paper for owner to claim the property
Stood out of these lengthy paragraphs was her despondency
The difficulty of maintaining balance and neutrality
The horror always dancing around in the carnival of city
Her hands tell her future, but nothing comes from her memory
She'd lived years before, but has nothing in her repository
Her tears dried on her cheeks, on her table an old diary
Some one speaking to her through the pages, likes of our colloquy
She was being told of a day which was not at all like today
Of a day when the sun smelled like sun flower and honey
Of times when she painted the clouds, waterfalls and valley
The valley was her birth place and always fed her fantasy
The fantasy that was living and merged in her reality
A love that flourished in the arms of her hubby
Days couldn't have been better and were always sunny
One day she saw a black cloud coming her way
She painted it and wrote about it in her diary
Rain was coming for the thirsty fields, she welcomed with joy.
How could have she known, it's not always a sign of ecstasy
She prayed, she painted, she played and she loved him always
She was fond of his eyes, his ears and loved him dearly
She smiled when he kissed her, she felt blessed eternally
A rainy day on her field was fun and they had a party
A day quickly became days and rainy day doesn't seem to go away
Valley was filled with water and the watermark kept soring absurdly
She was floating on a piece of her roof, looking for Gerry.
She had lost everything, her home, her paints, her diary
She had lost him in the water and it was her doomsday
She kept hold of that board and called his name constantly
Gerry didn't replied, but the clouds laughed at her brutally.
Doomsday ended and so a year, but she kept searching him insanely.
She found the debries, her paints and diary, but not her dear hubby.
She waited either for his well being or her own funeral cermony.
She went crazy but only spoke to her torn diary.
One day she climbs to the top of a mountain driven by her agony.
She jumps off the cliff and thinks that it is end of her story
No one knows how she was saved and brought to this sanctury.
No one knows why she remembers nothing and lost her memory
She came in blood and she cluched on to a diary.
They thought the diary might help to bring back her memory.
She had read it many times, but never remembers it entirely.
Nothing reminds her of this part of her story.
All she knows is that she hates the rain utterly.
She hates the water drops that fills the streets of city.
It makes her feel hollow and empty. Then she cries
No body tells her that what she reads is her own diary.
She just thinks the writer of diary must have been silly.
The writer speaks of the rain so highly.
And all she finds it dim, gloomy, nasty and deadly.
