Shadows of Memories

I am a drop, a fleeting whisper
born from the womb of clouds
plunging towards earth's bosom,
tracing stories of ancient seas
echoed in every splash composed,
weaving a map in fountains and cracks.

Gentle touch upon parched grace,
to dance on leaves, to flash and gleam,
I flee the warmth of swirling cosmos,
knowing only gravity’s sweet embrace;
liquid memories reflect
the somber lull of petrichor dreams.

Each surface a masque or theater,
ephemeral audience washed visage—
I whisper in rivulets secrets of time,
as so many kindred distill the known,
fractured eternity in each mirror drop,
crafting choral silhouettes of old rain.