Rain
Heaven’s tears streak the windowpane,
a liquid veil drawn across the face of reality.
The world beyond blurs and shifts,
familiar shapes rendered strange and new.
Each droplet carries fragments of sky,
miniature worlds suspended in freefall,
shattering on impact, releasing
microscopic oceans onto parched earth.
We drink deeply of this celestial sorrow,
our thirst for renewal never quite quenched.
The rain speaks in a language of pitter-patter,
a Morse code of droplets tapping out
messages from the atmosphere.
We strain to decipher their meaning,
to understand the whispers of the clouds.
Puddles form, mirroring the gray expanse above,
a thousand fallen skies at our feet.
We wade through memories made liquid,
each splash an echo of childhood joy,
each ripple a reminder of tears shed.
The rain washes away the dust of our days,
cleansing the canvas of our existence.
In the aftermath, petrichor rises,
the earth exhaling its gratitude.
We emerge, baptized by the downpour,
our sins and sorrows diluted,
carried away by rivulets and streams.
The world glistens, newborn and full of promise,
as we blink away the last lingering raindrops,
ready to face whatever storms may come.
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