Purple Umbrella


Young lover waiting in a school bench

alone, drenched in rain; puddle of water

still reflections of a love ill Neruda:

Will she comeback? Will she leave me here, dying?

And she arrived, the love of my life in purple umbrella

tiptoeing and I saw her eyes in search of me,

her beautiful oriental eyes I knew too well,

meeting mine and she lifted her lips

making my young heart thumped the way

a fourteen year old love poet would have;

and we walked in rain, so close, so close

that my heart burst and sprang poetry

they weren’t just words, nor they were just images

they were pure poetry seeded in her eyes, 

her being and her beautiful soul, reflected in mine.

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