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by this man-made lake
a steady drizzle hums,
the sun, yesterday’s news
as nature’s palette turns green and gray.

staring into the gun metal sky
she nuzzles her hennaed hair
into his gandhian lap,
mesmerized by the pitter patter
she dubs, as tears from heaven.

a bow-shaped stone bridge on the near horizon,
red-eared sliders floating on the water,
the pencil thin architectural skyline,
even the floating melancholy mute swan
beckons monet to rise like the phoenix
and have a second go at whimsical life

but not me,
with a cornucopia of life-scars to show,
and a ticking clock that’s monotonously relentless,
this trip to the crease better be
the last time at bat


© 2022
Yashika 1d
Rain, rain come again...
with lots of hope in my lane...


For some rain is romantic..it evokes love and excitement..
for some rain is messy and violent...
for some rain brings serenity..
for me rain is necessity....

I love drenching myself in rain
to wash my tears away...
forget what had happened...
and dance in mizzle once again..

rain has always been benediction..
as it had intensified couples passion ...
farmers find salvation...
while for me downpour is divinity...

Rain, rain ..come again
with lots of happiness on my lane...
a wonderful poem for showing love for rain....
You stay where I live—
no I live where I stay, as livelihood is doing in my head.
Girls with pictures—pictures with girls, so few
left in my phone. These are just running thoughts,
as I’m chasing dreams; as a working mind in them.
Skeleton hours; dead in the night, as it’s just another shift.
But it slips in these grinding gears, like winter rains slipping on
the road.

Under the cold whispering of previous night’s wind,
reminded of a cold world out there.
Be it truth to live by—amongst liars to speak such is dare,
and quite frankly rare. But I’m none impressed by trends,
tread your grounds carefully of where you walk.
Don’t slip up on your feet, bruising your knees on the
winter rains slipping on the road.

A side note of my love to rhyme...
by second nature to plan the ending word to second line.
Bringing it back this time to the starting rhyme,
and referring to the second rhyme by the fourth line.
Words slip easily off the tongue, dented like
winter rains slipping on the road.

This poem inspired was inspired by my walk
through shortcuts to work. Black wet tarmac,
holes in every direction. Back and forth, cars roam and go.
My breath visible in this morning cold. A sight in dilated
eyes; towards the sight of the winter rains slipping on the
road.

This winter is cold.
Yemaya Jun 18
two lovers in the rain
see each other
through a thousand new shades
each rain drop reflecting and refracting their love
into new beautiful hues
and shapes.
i listen to the dead bird sing,
as it lays footsteps for me to follow,
when the wind howls into my soul
i hear the whirring echo
a pregnant fear, a jitter of soul's trauma.
this is not a fairytale, it sings.
small drops of water that fall from the sky
you shall forget the wisp of rain
the touch of grass and
the breath of ocean air
you shall forget it's feeling.
if you keep listening to me, it says.
everything of warmth will evaporate.
and you'll be left with only my voice.
but i want to keep listening
to the dead bird's song.
because it is beautiful.
because it touches my soul.
And plants a seed of magical numbness
just enough to not feel everything else
that would be gone.
i want the prelude to end.
and the chorus to begin.

-arsonpoet
an ode to dead things that keep me alive.
Eloisa Jun 16
Like Japanese iris,
she shines with raindrops in the sun.
A blossoming grace in silence.
A new butterfly in flight.
D A W N Jun 16
i have taken sight of her
in all of her forms
every corner and curve
and i have never seen anything so implicitly
beautiful in my entire existence
i have seen her with outstretched arms
receive the
drizzling tears the rain bleeds out on a
sunday morning
i have seen her body
draped across the horizon
basking in the warmth of the unforgiving april sun
i have seen her blush
at  the sight of rosy pink skies cascading on her cheeks
i have heard her sing
when the zephyrs brush the strings of her eyelids.

the first time
and all the times after,
this encounter,
i will tuck it safely in the pockets of my memory
until death calls for my last breath.
i was so happy writing this mygod u should've seen the early morning rain at the creek where u could see the myriad of ripples the rain sheds on the still waters at 6 am it was so pretty rahhhasdasdjhk
Zywa Jun 12
Little raindrops tap

softly, rumble heavily --


down on the fish scales.
"Underneath" (2020, Jasna Veličković), composition for hyperorgan and coils, performed by her in the Organpark on May 20th, 2022 and May 28th, 2022 (on May 20th, 2022 as part 1 of a chain composition by ten composers)

Collection "org anp ark" #215
Eloisa Jun 11
She was sewn from a stream
of significant disasters,
but she has taken charge of the tide.
Directing the course of the storm,
she became one with the fiercest gyre.
The lightning, the moment
through the raging sea,
the season of her storm is done.
The smell of the after-rain,
the calmness of the shores mended the remnants.
A rainbow of colors and vibrance, the abundance of black clouds is gone.
The beautiful sky,  
a magical release
from these painful bonds.
Courage and kindness,
gratitude and strength,
the real treasures are now found.
When the rain falls
I think about you
My lips meet mugs
The morning coffee
that warms my body
Your love touches my heart
In the city that covered me
On your jacket
And I memorized
Indonesia, 6th June 2022
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
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