We grace the sky by keeping sane and alive,
So it's not protecting a barren land,
And retains it's purpose,
Although my lifelessness would encourage,
A deserted deceased body,
Over a lifeless one,
Do I have the right to despise the tarnish in the monsoon sky?
The flowers and rain,
The ceaseless beauty of this land makes me sick,
Neither am I right full to chase it nor have it,
I have been bleeding while only noticing the beauty of my blood,
With its throbbing pain going unnoticed,
Because it's all I have been allowed to see,
My nature propells me to admire what I see,
My feeble cry of destain,
Abolished by the thundering sound of the rain,
I have successfully pursued your hate,
Yet,
I am not satisfied.
