The Sounds Of Rain

The sounds of rain, so near, and so far...
On the snow-capped mountains, the ice melts,
the water flows in a silent stream,
and I hear the silence
in the raindrops falling on my window panes.
The rain can hear the silence reigning in my heart.
A slow beat, a plaintive note on a violin string,
stirs as if in the depth of a valley.
A descent from the hills,
the rain has an easy fall.
Down on the friendly slopes
the rain rolls, a child not scared of the fall.
And I am waiting, tremulously, to catch the rain in my arms.
Step by step, sometimes the rain descends
as the massive clouds watch the downhill slopes
until the streams gather and open the floodgates in a drastic wind.
Often in the moonsong, the rain delights.
Like a charmed herd of mountain deer.
the rain follows the magic flute,
and like a revelation on an abrupt night
the rain speaks of the mysteries sung to the ears of the maids
waiting for a marriage divine.
The mesmerizing sound of rain
carries the burden of ages of a longing that has remained
pristine, clear like the moonshine of the nights when the longing is a note
of a symphony played out in a solitary forest, a pliant ocean holding aloft
the music falling in an incessant stream.
The rain has memories of ancient dreams...
The anguish in the sounds of the rain.


Image courtesy Tanya Dimitrova. Thank you Tanya.

Originally shared by Tanya Dimitrova - 1 comment