Flickering, shining, little tremors,
on the land of my heart, brief showers,
I'm obsessed with little now,
I'm afraid, greyed by a little more.
Jealous of bees, when it rains heavily,
the sky dressed, scantily, yet merrily,
a little of grey satiates the heavens,
and the glances of sun, satiate me.
You must be drenched too, 'tis rain,
desire, to touch every pearl,
along the way somewhere, where sky meets heaven,
briefly though, it must've met you.