They sometimes shone as if in a bright sky and sometimes looked so grey as if they were about to rain
You shone back then,
and you knew it,
then,
you couldn't even rain
If you were a river, I would think that you stopped flowing a long time ago, maybe even 30 years back
And you were getting drier and drier every day, reluctantly
Only some birds checked on you, but that also wasn't something you bothered
What did you really want?
You just watched, not knowing what to do about all of these
If you could only wake up from your haze for a tiny bit, you would realize it was your own mud blocking the water from flooding
I, from time to time, visit where that dry river once was and fill the emptiness with some tears
I am not angry at you. But I am angry at the water that could have made it all colorful for you.
Like if these make sense at all.
