The Rain Reads Its Book In Dull Low Monotone
the rain reads its book
in dull low monotone
throughout the day
like a devoted school-boy-
it doesn't look like a storm as predicted
except for rough winds without fury -
the arrogance of a rogue storm
is totally absent-
or does it weep over
a denial of its dear demand by nature?
who can read the sorrow of a weeping rain?
is it the murmur of an unwilling task?
the trees also share its grief in sympathy
with strung pearls of tears all over them-
how can i be happy amidst this melancholy
but to weave verses of distress and woe?
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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