First with the high voice!
The master roars in with firmness,
Pulsing fears to mother earth,
And to the light
flying in with a cracked garment.
How beautiful is rain?
Subtle drops of tears clamouring for home,
Sent from the makers of the eyeing death,
Waking the snorting world.
And what’s rain?
If not a cloaked blessing piercing its mercy with coolness.
If not a life walking in a street of dead.
If not a deaf god
Ignoring shouts of protests and the clamour of love.
Dripping, splitting and splattering but soothing,
A blessing it is, rain that wash off pains,
The rain has to reign
on its throne.