Art by Wenchie Tacate
Crystal drops of water hit your bare shoulders
like rainfall on a barren land that craves for its savior.
They run down your back and between your toes,
coursing through your land’s curves and hollows.
The steaming water stings, almost scalding your skin,
yet it medicates the unrest you’ve created within.
Drop by drop, they soften your surface while uprooting the weeds of fear,
bringing to sight the seeds of ideas you had long buried under.
The fragrance of the soap on your skin perfumes the air,
like the soothing smell of rain mixing with the earth in all its flair.
It rains and it rains,
till you’ve drowned all your pain,
till the streams of water
coursing your land
and your stream of thought
flow as one,
till the seeds of ideas crack open
to reveal their first leaves of endless possibilities,
till you are born again.