Primal - The Fireworks

Over millennia,
the wild waters of the river
have carved their path
through the rusty landscape.
The winds howl endlessly
in the majestic halls of the canyon.
The grinding plates
beneath the surface
murmur the tales
of old earth, of a lost civilization,
of a glacier calving into the sea.

Hidden
in the gorges of the great river
is a cavern,
a virginial space,
a temple of atonement
for the geological transgressions.
Enveloped in a mystic blue haze,
unkissed by the sun, untouched by breeze,
unbothered by the operatic magnificence in the valleys, 
the shrine echoes the sound of dripping water, 
the tapping, an ode to poetic stillness. 

At the other end of the theatre
it’s the monsoon downpour.
Fireworks burst in the sky.

It's been five years.
She thought it was unrequited,
he thought it was platonic,
until this moment.
They are stuck in the evening rush hour.
Ten minutes ago
he put his hand on her thigh.
She froze,
he didn't flinch.
She knows it’s not casual,
he doesn't explain,
There's absolute silence in the car.
She hasn't moved
in what feels like eternity.
Glittering pixels of red light
dance on splattered drops
crawling down the windshield.
She doesn’t turn on the wiper.
The dissolving landscapes on the glass
and the fluidity of the moment
remind her of Monet’s waterlilies.
His grip tightens,
the mercury rises.
She suddenly comes to her senses,
startled by the cacophony
of thunder, expletives, blaring horns,
and the drumbeat of raindrops
on the metal roof.
 
Hidden
in the gorges of her wild spirit,
restraint unravels
in the grip of an all-consuming suspense.