Thursday

The Rain That Fell

Upon the glimmering drops,
within the shivering leaves,
into the hearts of nascent crops,
my memory heaves,
a sigh.

She has arrived within,
as dark fills the without,
the ways part,
respecting the timely dart.

The look she casts,
for the dew that lasts
the clamour, of the shower,
upon the virgin flower.

She, my memory,
sways upon these battles,
that to reality she lost,
and the wounds she still tackles.

7 comments:

Chit said...

'Battles' is a recurring theme in your poems.

Sagar said...

It is a reccuring theme in my life. :-)

Chit said...

:D

Differently Challenged said...

cheer up man!

Sagar said...

DC~ :-)

chingachgook said...

What's this - about battles being recurring... aren't you well settled in colaba and getting a pay to do what you like... >:-| ??

Sagar said...

ching~ :-)

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