The rain,
rushing down the window
like wives and mothers running
to the pit head when disaster strikes.
Rain or women,
the same goal,
to reach their destination
whether it be river or mine.
Some slower than others
not wanting to know their destiny,
Some fast,
wanting to know the outcome of it all.
For the rain,
it's full cycle,
sea to sky
cloud to drain.
For the women
they take their men home
either to bury
or to bathe,
Until next time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, beautiful, original....creative writing, great power of expression! I love this poem! ~~Elya Thorn~~