The Rains of Childhood, Won’t Stop Pouring Down, Two Poems

Could it be memories, maybe, maybe not, translated…

One…

The rains of childhood is about to cease

Waiting until you’re finally asleep

It too, had stopped

The child changed into her/his days with her/his sleep

And, the rains of her/his childhood, changed her/his days as well

After the child fell asleep, then, the rain ceased

The night listened to the words in the child’s sleep

The child says s/he isn’t tired yet

Let’s just halt there then

Because the rains through the childhood years won’t cease

After the child wakes, it’s still the same day over again

Keep, running, continuously in the rain

So long as the child is awake

The rain couldn’t change the days for her/him

And, the child never ages

And, as the rains of the childhood years were about to stop

The child still stayed wide awake

So, the rains of the childhood keeps on pouring down

So, this, is how you get STUCK, in the childhood, because childhood is mostly filled with a TON of pain, and the rain here symbolized the sorrows one’s been put through, and, the child’s unwillingness to sleep symbolized how the child on the inside is unwilling to let her/his past stay in the past, and, the child is still a state of mind, because s/he refuse to grow up and out, and see the pains s/he’d been put through as something that made her/his mature.

Two…

Met the elephant at the train stations

He was, carrying the dead corpse of his own child

The adult elephant cut off its own tail

The adult elephant cut off its ears

The baby elephant is already dead

The baby elephant was, almost dead

Adult elephant, oh adult elephant

Do give me the dead baby elephant

Where I grew up

There is still, a gentle plain

There’s a short train track lain atop of it

As the trains slowly pulled into the station

The train had come to the end of its journey

Just allow me and the baby elephant alight here then

The baby elephant almost died

But there’s still a small piece of gentle and mild plain

Wait until the baby elephant grows older

And becomes an adult too

It’d come to know

That this gentle and mild plain that it’d grown up on

Was, once, dyed red

The rains of childhood is red

So are the tears of the baby elephant

He’s already dead

It’d drenched the elderly and the young

To open up an umbrella to protect the dead corpse of the baby elephant

Turns out, that this gentle plain

Is a graveyard for elephants

The trains still stalled

And the rains of childhood, still, poured down hard

This just shows the impact of the childhood years, NO matter how old you are right now, you can never get rid of what happened to you in your childhood years, and this poem showed JUST that, and, apparently, the adult elephant here still hadn’t grieved completely and properly for the baby elephant within her/himself, and, until the adult grieves for the child on the inside, s/he will always, be living under the storm clouds…

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Filed under Being Exposed, Childhood, Coping Mechanisms, Cost of Living, Early Exposures, Innocence Lost, Loss

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