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The arrival

Late morning. Cloudy.
White light fills the street,
muffles the horns
somehow making
white noise louder.

Whooshing of the tires,
clanking of the bare branches,
scarce applauding
of the windowpanes and doors.

Gray walls are soaked.
Roofs glisten.
People beneath
are umbrella-ready.

I do not have wings.
I fly with the sounds.
Into the open window,
through the balcony door
or through the wall,
this part I don't remember,
but I enter the room.

A tall man ironing shirts
and talks to an infant.

I look at the ceiling
through the string
of the bright colorful toys
and smile to the words
I am yet to learn.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
Editing stage: 


Your language use is pretty good...the line "this part I don't remember" adds realism to the experience you have created in the verse...

thanks for posting...

raj (sublime_ocean)

Thank you, well done critique!


author comment

white noise?
pardon my blatant ignorance

Google it, my friend.
You are pardoned for now.


author comment

when my eyes get

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