They come from the place where the stolen things return.
They come with the wind which in futility tries to blow away the dirt of this world.
Watching from the window, I do not understand
The battle that the rains had to go through, with the wind as an ally, to break through the gates of the all-encompassing nothingness
To grace my face with little droplets.
And my eyes with dry dust.
Sweeping away, up into a whirlwind, the sands
Which have, through the endless years, seen and become
The clans risen and now dead, the cowards worshiped and feared,
The leper chided, the beautiful one shunned.
The rains and its wind, they try to reveal
To share their Knowledge,
To bid me and my kind heed.
But I, who have been blinded and torn away from the bosom of the motherly universe
Into the dark artificial realities of me and my kind,
I do not understand the message that it brings.
I cannot decipher the images.
So I move away from the window and rub my eyes, raw and red
Just like those of the ones who send the omens
When they cry in exasperation
That I have walked too far away to see.
I shut the window and the air outside wails in desperation.
It will be another year, before the first rains can come again, with the wind as an ally, breaking through the gates of the all-encompassing nothingness, to deliver the signs, to me and my kind.