A hesitant drizzle here
or a patter a little later,
rain is a purveyor of mood hues.
Clouds too snort in dismay
at its slow drip of munificence.
As if acting on cue it opens
into a relentless downpour.
Then rivulets brim, canals breach
the banks, dams knock at the gates!
Then edgy heart cries
"stop this nagging roar".
But the heart, strangely enough,
has no banks or is dammed.
It flutters when the sky is
beaming blue, sparse white patches,
expecting the day to unclasp
rosy vibes; or the dusk will
fall with a parting, gleaming gift.
En route is the paved way of
prickly thorns; Heart trots to the
steady tip-toeing of the wall clock!
Then it cries "stop this claptrap".
I love the silent, tranquil gurgle
of the rivulet where pebbles shine.