MUSINGS OF A SOLIVAGANT

Rains

The skies are breaking apart in thunder,
The nature crying in the teardrops of rain.
The small drops merging to form bigger ones,
On the large green radish leaves,
And rolling off like little shiny globes,
Dropping into a puddle of wild grass green.
The drops form a veil of haze,
Like a curtain drooping in front of her eyes,
Splashing her glasses foggy,
The curious big eyes veer through the mist,
Trying to fathom the vast world,
And the purposeless direction of the rains,
As the winds whoosh and hush more.
She sits there, a rug over her knees,
A book in her lap, half forgotten.
Her fingers dance to the tunes of,
Someone unknown song of her childhood.
The baleful tunes blending to the staccato,
Of her own heart beating.
Her thoughts are racing faster than the winds,
That bring in the news of the monsoons.
All rhyming to the rhythms she weaves,
In the poetry of the tales of changing seasons.

A/N Do you love the rains?