The Rain Reads Its Book In Dull Low Monotone Poem by sundaram chandrakalaadhar

the rain reads its book

in dull low monotone

throughout the day

like a devoted school-boy-

it doesn't look like a storm as predicted

except for rough winds without fury -

the arrogance of a rogue storm

is totally absent-

or does it weep over

a denial of its dear demand by nature?

who can read the sorrow of a weeping rain?

is it the murmur of an unwilling task?

the trees also share its grief in sympathy

with strung pearls of tears all over them-

how can i be happy amidst this melancholy

but to weave verses of distress and woe?