Rain is drizzling in slanting form,
Pelting my thatched roof gently.
Every globule of raindrop shines
With the power of water.
Outside, it’s cold, grey and hopefully dark,
The stars hiding behind blindfolded and
Piddling clouds, making love smoothly.
The cosmos, fatter, and at the same time, leaner,
Holds a confraternal festival of rain
That runs from seasons to ancestries.
My ears are full.
Every breath I take resides on pluvial
Melody, charging my pulses towards the
Mirth of eloquent stanzas.
God, how on earth can I thank you enough
For music?
Its power is upon me —so heavily!
Like when Samson descended on the young lion.
Every tone, every tune empowers me, trusses my
Limbs, and lies me humbly on the road to
Cleansing paths.