Friday

It Is Raining

Quivering leaves,
pattering drops,
oscillating lives,
cold black clouds,
consuming the sky.
It is raining.

I left my thoughts,
upon the table,
to dry away.
They like getting
wet in alkaline bliss.
It is raining.

My feet are dry,
my hands are wet,
my lips touch,
the happy smell
of the soil below.

Souls have wandered,
following the wafting stench,
of remote dreams.
Faltering, slithering,
slipping, flowing.
It is raining.

All joys, all sorrows,
all alien consumptions,
all pain, all tears,
drenched, in the falling rain.

I'm looking at you,
full in the face,
and you laugh,
in the million flowers,
of vernal blush.
Fresh, Virgin, Naive.
It is raining.

2 comments:

Sriram said...

you have used excellent words .... great work .
hey if you find time do visit my blog . have fun .

Sagar said...

Sriram~Thanks. :)

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