The wind blows; sometimes it thunders,
I see the whirlwinds; as rapid as
what is in my heart; violent activities
Of the soul, in agreement with the mind.
And just suddenly; clouds turn grey
As pale as my face at that moment.
They keep saying rain is ugly.
I'm not sure how I look when I cry;
I think, it's just as it rains
And it pours with its might; destroying yet restoring.
Do you cry to destroy memories and cherish some?
I paint the picture of rain in me.
Its waters go down the hills, sometimes trapped as floods.
Tears down my cheeks to the ground; some in my hankies
And after the painful destruction; I sleep in.
Waiting for a great sunshine and fall.
An illuminated smile on my face after the cry;
So amazing is the flowers' glamour; the colour.
I'll let the rain touch me, next time it rains.
We understand each other's language
And, I'll know exactly when it's destructive or constructive
For I know the beauty it holds within.
Brings life to all that ought to live
And makes the sweetest of dreams real again!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem