Breezy busy melodious rain,
For the trees to breathe,
For the fields to yield.
Lyrical drizzling to cheer the young,
Maddened moist in concealing the wet caresses,
Pearls of the foliage, drenched in the rainbow glaze,
Scenting the sand, sweeping the paper boats,
Obsessively passionate to subvert the darker shade.
Darker it is in the noisy night,
When the old woman forgets her way home, tumbling in the slippery boulevard,
When the fury wind takes the roof of the hut, water brings the families out.
The ridiculous flow,
Infecting the water,
Speaking in those green eyes,
Coughing with the cold voice,
Talking to those saline bottles,
Swallowing the hunger,
Whispering to the absentee children of feverish shiver.
The cloudy darkness conquering the sun,
The fresh mud decorating her new dress,
The lightning echoes disturbing the infant’s sleep and throwing the world into slumber,
The newspapers holding the thunderstorm deaths,
Skidding bikes and slithery routes,
Toxic reap and fruitage,
Decomposing the earth,
Killing endlessly with the flood tide untimeliness,
And giving powers to trees to perpetuate the killing.
Darker in the day,
When the closed shops welcome,
The cricket wins,
Postponement of the days one by one,
Reversing the time in return.
Gloomy the flow,
Suicidal the shower,
Darker the drizzle,
Sickly the fall,
Yet, is patronized, composed, sung, danced, and long awaited.