He sounded very feeble Unlike the man he once was “I heard” he said “what you wrote” Picking on a Love Hate duel; An innocuous note that I have penned in an obscure magazine. “How come you feel that I hate you?” It was more of an aside Than a question. Could see a lonely trickle Of a solitary pearl Swelling inside the only good Eye that he still has. How could I tell him, That it was me who had hated him? How could I break a heart That’s already been broken?
It’s raining outside, Summer rains; unpredictable Like the man in the bed now I moved closer to him So close, could feel the tired Beats of trailing rhythm Looking at me, he lay there Like a drenched puppy, Waiting to be held. In an embrace, We became one Yet, again. It’s raining inside now.
’tis a playing field for many kinds out in the arena, to discern the companionship of the puissant sun ’tis a hot, new summer day , blithe and sound maketh thou run, run, run… syrupy voice of nightingale, fills candied
I lay in bed Listening to the hammering rain Pit pat pit pat Beating on the window pane I gaze at these racing drops Hitting a different note each fall Spreading the fragrance in the air Of their rendezvous with
I awake to the gloom of a cloud covered sky, There’s a dampness that floats with the air. A stillness and peace has enveloped my world, And I don’t see a soul anywhere. You can already smell the rain on