***
Rain of the past falls again,
and in the quiet rustle of droplets
I can hear how time is passing.
Chrystal rain-tree.
Its branches flow like transparent streames.
They whisper about half-forgotten memories,
Gentle, quiet, tender memories of yours.
Fresh gray sky
calls the rain-tree – again and again.
Clouds are getting lower, pearls are falling.
The great sky sequoia absorbs the clouds,
Rustling with stormy leaves.
...The sky is hanging outside the window.
Looms.
Terrible. Distant. Alien.
It clings to the glass.
Asks me to let it in.
I won't let it in! Never!
I'll hide in the bathroom, pull the curtain,
turn on the shower to the fullest.
The rain rustles from the shower, useless domestic water. Domestic?..
Clouds grow from the steam.
Gray. Terrible. They loom.
It's hard to breathe.
I'll escape.
I'll open the bathroom door, first a little,
Peek with one eye...
Then wider, and more...
Nothing, it seems... Safety enough, it seems...
I'll swing the door open.
And I'll fall into the heavenly hardcore heights.
The gray sky calls the rain-tree, again and again.
Clouds are getting lower, pearls are falling.
Quiet, quiet rustle of droplets.
Listen to their whisper!
Listen...