The surreal rains
Carry the cajoles
That sleep in
Unmanned puddles.
I watched the rain
From my window
As they cascade.
And how beautiful
It was as I dance
With the trickles
Of the tender heavens.
How painless it was
When I allowed the rain
To cut through my lips raw
With innocence!
But then sometimes,
The rains are not
As poignant as
They could be.
For sometimes,
I see myself-
Blundered to,
Pilfered away,
Burning in the
Mad rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem