The curving trail of salt
Was cracked and parched,
Where tears once trickled
Down cheeks to drip from chins.

Many times rolling down,
Until seasonally drying up
As if there was nothing left
That could make them run again.

Initially it had been
Accompanied by wails
Belted from a tootless mouth,
Wiped away with parental instinct.

Then it came in torrents,
From teenage angst
That took some growing
To fathom the depths of.

From the back of experiences
They cascaded with sobs,
When with either joy or sorrow
Pulling through against the odds.

Hot and brimming over eyelids
Releasing liquid pain relief,
Nothing replaced its ability
To create clear perspectives.

Every duct was still functional,
It’s the owners of the tears
That had adjusted themselves
To the emotional drought.

When like the monsoons
Eyewater ran it’s route again,
It need not be shown the way
To cry when new reasons arise.

Ria 2016