Sonnet IV – Thou as a massager 🧡
As black clouds wrap the sky, the black thoughts wrap my mind,
silent storm takes them away, thou hand on my black head.
From far away the boisterous baleful black clouds evenly aligned.
In reverence of ominous storm, they remove the black they dressed.
Thy thin fingers playing with the black fused wires,
as lightning between black clouds with black waves.
Oil swims , water drops singing in those clouds’choir.
I relax by the massages on my black head in holidays.
Thy massage is yet necessary for mine,
To remove my worries, to remove my headache.
Would my mind’s rays dim without this,like an ethyne?
Would my day break without this, during daybreak?
A mommy of a teen , a massager in our room.
Without thou, the black thoughts will bury me in the tomb.