RAIN

First with the high voice!
The master roars in with firmness,
Pulsing fears to mother earth,
And to the light
flying in with a cracked garment.

How beautiful is rain?
Subtle drops of tears  clamouring for home,
Sent from the makers of the eyeing death,
Waking the snorting world.

And what's rain?
If not a cloaked blessing piercing its mercy with coolness.
What's rain?
If not a life walking in a street of dead.
What's rain?
If not a deaf god
Ignoring shouts of protests and the clamour of love.

Dripping, Splitting and Splattering but soothing,
A blessing it is, rain that wash off pains,
The rain has to reign
on its throne.

©Abdul Hadi Haleemah

Poetry is the clouds covering a horizon

Poetry is kings in a throne

it gives you the freedom to make people notice

it gives you a voice

But the falling sound

isn't just in your dreams

it's creeping up on us fast

so please can you listen

we have to revive it, bring it back

before it's too far gone