A dazzling sough,
The wind blows through, across the stunning white clouds, to Earth,
A dearness of the whistling, carrying a, warm breeze makes it worth
Worth but to say nothing less than; praise the new coming day!
Rustling the leafs, shaking them, letting them dance, then sway,
The wind is a transient traveler, rushing through this worldly life,
Gathering clouds together, a delicate drizzle is what they strive for,
Distorting, carrying, leading them towards the ground, wettening them in a scenery of a wonderous sight, fertilising the soil more,
Howling in a showering yet intimitating sense of the changing scene,
Blowing over each drop of pure water on the green coloured grass,
Spring is truly a season where dreams can sore,
It gives us the idea of something greater, something more,
Coming with ups, then downs, it gets carried away by the wind,
Until finally, the sunny days of summer are to come,
Sit down with me, listen to the sighing of the wind, don't be lonesome
By the sound it makes, the gentle song which blows through our ears
Can you hear it whispering ?

~ Umi

The sounds of morning
roused me from a deep slumber.
The clouds grew tumid.

Songbirds of the day
kept me company and we
held the rain at bay.

A gentle twilight
broke the slow afternoon’s back;
a drizzle followed.

The sky wept last night;
the storm faded in hiccups.
Now the earth is dry.

Rainy days have come again;
Seems that they do not have an end.
For even when the sun is shining,
I see no silky silver lining.
Even when the sky is blue,
It seems a dull and darkened hue.
Even when the birds are singing,
I hear a haunted, hollow ringing.
Through pseudo smiles; lying laughter,
No hope of, ‘happily ever after.’
Since I have pushed you far away,
The rainy days are here to stay.

Gently it pours
Like cotton on the skin,
Forming puddles therein,
And reflecting the lights it showers in.

Gently it spills
Veiling the hills
And wash away all the lethal ills;
To spare hopes and wills.

Gently it falls
Like little, cool, crystal *****
Melting onto the abundant furniture of this green halls
Along with waltzing winds it calls.

By Wardah
23rd November 2017 (6.18pm)

I count the minutes that pass by on the clock,
smiling at how stupid I was,
for letting you in, when you were false
after all, I'm young
and can't make decisions;
I can't even decide what to wear on the first day back,
to a hell hole that makes me depressed
And it's not like anyone will care
but i still want your approval anyway

Standing under stormy clouds as they pour rain
Washing my thoughts down filthy a drain
This is where I find myself invisible
They can no longer see my physical
Tucked away, this energy no longer gleams
It's gotten lost inside my illogical dreams