Monsoon, Rain, Silence

Three poems by Simon Anton Diego Nino Baena 

Monsoon

1.

 

Where do you start

in this? The streets are silent

and the trees are weary,

and you light another cigarette.

Every morning, the church recedes

in the embrace of a mist

along with your muted shadow.

In the ossified city of phantoms,

your house is a massive cavity

where laughter is woven with grief

in a long recollection of sins,

you search for your footprints

somewhere in the pitch black

soil of its once green fields—

listen. Someone’s voice continues to

echo, as the infant weeps,

the antique belfry roars

in the company of a drizzle.

 

2.

 

The sky vomits lightning

again. And words are heavy

like iron bars, and your breath

is a little bit slower than usual.

Every night, these wet streets

continue to haunt you, in your nightmares,

and even in your dreams.

All the windows are painted black,

and open to welcome a breeze

that is foreboding. Here, loneliness is

engraved in the dripping walls

of rain, where your tears remain

an abundant commodity

in the grey atmosphere of day.

 

Rain

In my balcony I will sit and listen to the music

you create with your jointless fingers, whenever

you take a leak above my roof of nipa leaves,

whenever you visit this city of sleepy streets

and dull houses, where the scent of sugar burns

in February. Feverishly, my ears anticipate to hear

the sound of your falling waters, as I stare at this

blank sheet of paper and my dad’s pictures,

taken last summer in Alhambra before

he passed away. Outside, the cable wires begin

to sway in harmony with your bleating melody.

And the windows are moistened with tears. Rain,

I want you to know that I don’t seek rainbows

even if there are landslides and bloated corpses 

flooding the news, because of your monsoon.

 

Silence

Silence, in this barrio

the old folks used to say

is bliss. Hovering above

the leafless acacia

are weary clouds,

they move gently

with no sound.

One hundred meters

from where I sit

is the sea, listless,

and always indifferent,

when something ominous 

approaches from the east–

now the rain falls

to kiss the humid earth.

As the anemic moon lies

on top of the pebbles

of Nabaoy river,

the mangroves do not sway

and the birds never come

to build their nests.

 

Editor’s Note on Monsoon, Rain, Silence:

Monsoon, Rain, Silence are not the first poems that Simon Anton Diego Nino Baena has had published in Eastlit. Apart from Monsoon, Rain, Silence, he has previously had work published as listed:

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