When clouds wait on sunny skies,
We are quick to judge.
Clouded skies: the tell tale sign of rain.
The general population does not approve.
When the sun is blocked, it is like a curse.
"It's cold! Why can't the sun come out?"
The sun cannot decide the weather
The weather simply is. Unchangeable.
We can forget that the rain, too, is good.
Feeding plants, and the words of songs.
In places where there is little rain, no change from the sun,
Its persistent glare turns into a hostile gesture.
The youth scream for the touch of water,
The feel of nourishing drops.
No trees can grow in the Sahara, sweetheart.
It is not blessed with rain.
The winter you see in yourself is part of nature,
One of the four seasons, each equally important.
There is a beauty in this. It leaves a sense of appreciation.
A method of madness to the sadness.
When the rain thunders down,
Those who do not know the feel of drought rush for shelter.
But there will always be someone, some happy heart,
A child playing in the puddles.
If you feel overcast, like a swollen cloud,
Fit to burst, heavy with the weight of your travels.
It is ok. The sun lets you leave your luggage.
Your first raindrop is a welcome gift.
You might see yourself as a storm,
Scaring those who don't know your voice.
But I, my love, would be more than happy,
to dance freely in your rain.
YOU ARE READING
Attempting Brevity
PoetryA small collections of poems and stuff that I'm doing. Because I find I work better at writing stuff that is pretty short, I figured I could turn some stories I want to write into poems instead. Forgive me if it's a little shoddy, these are my first...
