The clouds had gathered again,
There were streaks of lightning everywhere,
And the thunders echoed in every street,
Winds that came, said that it was again the rain..
She sat somewhere looking into her own abyss,
From where she could never let herself out,
A drop that fell, felt to be heaven sent,
On her eyes that had dried away so long..
It was the nature again,
Or the pain was falling as teardrops everywhere,
On the leaves, the grounds,
The lakes and the streets...
If it was a picture,
It was definitely a true masterpiece,
With darkness adorned by strokes of white,
And a hand that bled, was getting wet that day...
It's a normal thing though,
The rain and all its mess, as they say,
But it was truly special for some people like her,
Who wished to get washed away...
By the time, the pitter patter lasted,
Every inch and every part was drenched,
And the living things looked yet more alive,
But her lips still didn't move again...
From the sky above,
Some could see an umbrella somewhere,
Or paper boats floating here and there,
But she who danced in the rain, was forever lost from there...
The rain on goodbye, with imprints in the air,
The petrichor still in every breath,
With puddles and mud pools splashing about,
The open window was closed,
And a rarely visible figure, was again gone...
