February 13, 2018

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With Rain I've Spoken - 3rd place winner

February 13, 2018

I strode along with you,

down the wind-swept path from school that day.

Unsure, undecided, wondering how to pose the question.

We spoke of dalliances at home, at school,

speaking not of the future, but present.

But coward I was, tongue-tied I stayed,

unable to find the words that matter.

Large was the prairie, the fields around us,

but how small my heart was, oh diffident was I!

Then spoke the thunder to our musing,

carrying fast our paws forward.


Came the storm and the rain

came the pouring and the wet.

A long way still there was to home.

No shelter nor bush to shield us,

So out I drew my old umbrella,

cowering with you beneath.


It was then I realized your breath was so close.

It was then I realized how good you so smelled.

It was then I knew how good you looked.

It was just then, my bad, my brolly broke.


I wiped your brow futily, poor attempt it be,

'cause as a cat I knew how much you hated the wet.

As I failed to protect you from heaven's tears,

a droop of my whiskers, and then I froze.

The shock on your muzzle as wet washed down your brow,

the rosettes of your pelt shimmering sleek with the flow.

The edges of your muzzle glistening bright,

the sparkle of crystals cascading off your nose.

Fangs shown in surprise, feline features accentuated, undenied.

Clothes sticking to pelt as rivulets ran,

sleek contours out for me to stare.

So good you looked, even in the midst of storm.

If beauty exists even in the gloom and damp,

how can we both not, borne of one plight?

Bonded by fate, bonded by rain,

children of thunder and sky's moistening gaze.


My paws hastened to find you, seek you.

Relished it much you had, not flinching, nor turning

My paws sought to keep you warm,

you drew in, leaned close, breathed deep my scent.

My mane clung sodden,

but to you and I, it didn’t matter.

We laughed, we cried, learnt about each other,

a journey so defined we needed no shelter.

The heavens ceased weeping and her clouds soon parted,

gave silent approval, smiled with her gaze.

You smiled at me, so happy and bright,

laughing right back as I held you tight.


I knew then we were meant for each other,

as mates; as partners.

With Mother Sky as witness, Father Storm as priest

We’ll shelter each other, forever and forever.




BIO: H.J has been writing since he studied Aeronautical Engineeribg in Polytechnic, and worked on novels long before he realized short stories were a thing. He believes short stories are no less important than novels, and gives readers a good glimpse into the life of its characters.


Despite the immense heat and random climatic changes, H.J stil resides in Singapore, where he finds inspiration in real and fictitious situations. 


He can be prodded at https://twitter.com/hjpang3

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