Rain

It has gone dark,
Pitch dark and cloudy,
Rain is falling
It is not a gentle,
Pitter-patter.

The sudden sporadic,
Bursts of rain,
Sound like short bursts,
Of machine gun fire.
As I look out of my window.

As one grows older,
Rain no longer,
Brings back fond memories,
Of rare moments of joy,
In a melancholic past.

One just worries,
That the traffic is not,
More harried than usual,
And one hopes,
To reach home on time.

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6 Comments

  1. Yeah in the city, rain is fun when you are at home… Not when you have to wade through muck. At home, rain is still fun… It’s just muddy red colored water flowing and gushing down the road…

    Reply

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