When it rains, I see things in grayscale
and hear things in monotone, resembling
every raindrop as each taps the ground
drop after drop, but not simultaneous.
Grayscale is how I stereotype memories,
and monotone, my solitude. Grayscale
is the safest hue to make a quick imaginary
blackening and deletion of haunting pasts.
And the best moment to delete bad memories
is when it is raining, you get a free flush.
And the raindrops synchronize rhythms
with my hearbeats, slow, fast, fast and heavy.
Later, a moment of silence. Later, a whisper
to myself, “That was me then. I have changed.”
Nothing is more hurting than progressing
while others are left in their old thoughts
saying, “you were excellent then, how come?”
Smile is the best answer. Now is not the right
time to tell them that I redefined excellence.
Now is not the right time to defend myself.
One wrong move of defense might be considered
an excuse, just a reason to run away from the rain.
When it rains, I wish lightnings would hit them
because I save only the lightnings from being gray
and I save only the thunders from being monotonous.
Grayscale removes the luster from my medals
and plaques. Monotone deafens their applauses.
After this rain is a new life. And life’s excellence
is best offered to people who vividly see the color
of blood and flesh being butchered each day,
to people who clearly hear cries and anguish.
Life’s excellence is beyond grayscale and monotone.
