On that day, he sat in his obi
Waiting for the sun that never sets
For the storms he shouts, did he?
He knew no one could clean his mess
The wall geckos felt his pain
In his chest, he could feel the sprain
"Will I end like this?" He thought
As he caresses his palms with force
"Life is a color palette", he said
To some, rough; to others straight
He's frail at this point
With intense pain in his groin
The moon is back
Lightening the lonely nights
For the very first time, he slept
"The tree has fallen!" His wife wept