Poezja

The rain washed, 
moon. I am going to talk, 
to clouds, 
for a pause. 
 
* 
 
A serene 
quietness. 
Rain comes down in rhythmic dance. 
No bird will sing now. 
 
* 
 
I will watch, 
the bougainvilleas. 
Shedding the coloured bracts 
on velvety grass.