Tapping the age old AC's rhythm
I slowly let my eyes close.
Black clouds amassed atop the green.
Somewhere in the skies,
A lovely plaint thunder.
A dropp will drip,
Drops will pour down.
Holding the face high
I awaited the downpour.
Longed.
Stood tight for the earliest drop.
Carving the skies it finally arrived.
Gently touched my eyelid.
Lightly Kissed.
Moist. I mildly opened my eyes.
Instantly picked the phone and dialed;
'Man! The AC maintenance ain't come yet! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem