Do raindrops remember

Looking out the rain streaked
window panes, I am bound up in it,
this moment of meditation. I see
past my reflection through the
glass. Cords of water cascade in
shimmering shapes, the movement
distorting the image. Spikes of
lightning flash bulbs illuminating,
burning pictures in my memory.
Where has each droplet been before?
Tears of a mother, thirst quenched in
a desert oasis, foaming tip of a
wave, crashing surf, placid pool
in a mountain glen, frozen piece
of a comet’s tail, dew on the petal
of a velvet rose, spilled blood of a warrior?
Where have they been and
do they carry the knowledge of their past?
When I die, I wish to come back
as a raindrop to wet the seeds
of birth in Mother Earth’s womb,
to be the glistening moisture
in eyes of a newborn, or
fly as cloud vapor to the top
of the tallest mountain, to be
a single drop of loves sweat caught
in burning passion, to glisten
on lips first kissed, and…..
I wish to remember, forever.

Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour