The partly clouded sky above your head,
The partly wet grass under your naked feet,
Those few droplets of rain, the hidden sun,
Aren’t these enough to breathe in the sorrow and misery?
Let them lose themselves in your lungs filled with water.
Not the water you drink or take shower with,
But the one you shed, just like the clouds do.
I pay no attention to the water dripping down your legs,
I am worried about the one rolling down your cheeks.
You become so clear when touched by the lustrous liquid,
That I can see the melancholy carved on your skin, your mind,
Your soul and most importantly the scars at your back.
Those are not there as the mark of disobedience but endurance.
But remember one thing, the colour red alone,
Can not make the rainbow.