Clad in Black and Red

“It is going to rain,”
said a girl,
covering her head,
packing her back,
kicking her bike
to life;
roaring off.

I sit here,
on the pavement,
under the leaves that belong
to someone else’s garden –
waiting for the rain.

The rain comes
in big transparent drops
from the grey sky;
it is the grey
that sheds tears,
while everyone else
tries to run away from it,
kicking their bike to life,
covering their heads –
their hair.

I sit here,
on the pavement,
under the leaves that belong
to someone else’s garden,
waiting for the greyness
of the sky
to form a puddle
on the ground
for me to see my image
in it.

Then I see you
after the rain ends,
walking in jolly,
agreeable company,
clad in black,
and red.
I feel jealous
of the piece of fabric
touching your skin.

And then,
you step into the puddle,
dispersing the water,
and my image in it.

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