And who art thou? Said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the melodious melancholy, said rain,
I rise invisible, out of the seas less explored than the silver moon,
And pulled towards satellite waters, changing states, densities and altering forms,
Yet the same, falling to the ignorant rich and the thirsty poor,
A classification still strong, from the days of Walt to days of Ajay,
And slowly through the cemented pathways, I travel back to home,
Home spoilt with human treasures,
(Filter'd forth does the naïve flow, sorrowful song the mother sings,
Disturb'd cycle resumes to lover)
~Ajay
July 2017
A/N- A take on 'The voice of the rain' by the father of free verse, Walt Whitman, here's the original poem
And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed,
and yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own
origin, and make pure and beautify it;
(For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wander-
ing,
Reck'd or unreck'd. duly with love returns.)
