I wrote down under the raging sound of patters,
Morning was a rainy kiss for me to stop dreaming
Welcoming the millionth-time opportunities
Cherished by boisterous heartbeat
And sincere hopes
Even the rain woke up too early
I can only smile
Lifting hands, sheltering drops
The grayness refused to dry my wet clothes
Although I miss the yellow sun
I won’t matter the gray sky
As long as I keep continuing my prayers,
reaching even my modest dream
I hope God does not work too hard to grant it.
The town has been flooded for days thanks to the overwhelming flow of rainfalls, of which people despised, for they had to adjust the routines and everything that has been set and saved. In bitterness and crisp, frosty surroundings they tried to cope and absorb. Cursing the flood, loathing how the gloomy days changed their systems.
But he, he was something. Of anything he has been observing every day on his past thirty years he has found what love actually is. He found it when he enjoys the chill sensation when he put his wet foot inside his shoes. How amazing it was to sense each drop of the rainfall pinning his head, like a thousand needles of weed composing him ease. He walked barefoot on the flooded road by himself, when for sure nobody else had avoided to even go out of their safe doors.
All these rain drops gives somehow a favor to me, and it’s not the end of the world. I can hope for a fresh, lively land when it’s all over and start a new beginning of my days. Those might just would be like any other casual days but they are still brand new. They are promises on every hour you live in. So endure it. Live it. Every agonizing storm has to end in any days now.
Burst in contended hearts, he opens his eyes and watches a yellow sunshine shimmering over the soaked rooftops, babies’ heads and roses.