By The Rivulet Poem by K.S.Subramanian Subramanian

A hesitant drizzle here or
a patter a little later, rain
is a purveyor of mood hues.
Clouds too snort in dismay
at its slow drip of munificence.
As if acting on cue it opens
into a relentless downpour.
Then rivulets brim, canals breach
the banks, dams knock at the gates!
Then edgy heart cries
"stop this nagging roar."

But the heart, strangely enough,
has no banks or is dammed.
It flutters when the sky is beaming
blue, sparse white patches,
expecting the day to unclasp
rosy vibes; or the dusk will fall
with a parting, gleaming gift.
En route is the paved way of prickly
thorns; Heart trots to the
steady tip toeing of the wall clock!
Then it cries "stop this claptrap."

I love the silent, tranquil gurgle
of the rivulet where pebbles shine.