Wednesday, September 7, 2011


Tipper Tapper the raindrops sing,
an earthly croon, an elvish hymn,

Outside my window, against the glass pane,
slipping, sliding, invisible stains,

I stretch my hand out as if to catch a tune or two,
so I can write her a song, wipe away the blue,

As the drops make silent puddles on my arid palm,
eyes shut I dream, silence the storm,

I dare not open them, for the wonder I see,
the morning sun bathed in her serenity,

She's Venus personified, I bow to her command,
as she hands me the keys to wonderland,

I open my eyes, the dream has broken free,
she's so close yet so far away from me.

(Photo attributed to Arman Zhenikeyev


Saru Singhal said...

Beautiful, I am writing something where I'm using the phrase stretching the fingers. Lovely poem and I love it more for my love for rain...

Anonymous said...

loved it!

KP said...

Wonderful! :)


@Saru: Thank you, much appreciated :) and I love the rain too :)

@KP: Thank you :)