Her attire drenched in the runaway pour
Like a trill approaches me by the window still

Singing notes of yore for an aching heart
Longing like a razor that a soul can kill

In motionless embrace a drop clings to the green
With reflections of you in its sparkle and sheen

To the raging fire, a rain fuel you need
In moist a life sprouts from a parched seed

In our downpours, I be the seed, you the rain.

~S~
26th July, 2012 : 6.15 AM

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