Mélancolie de la pluie: Melancholy of the rain
The roaring clouds, the pouring clouds.
This turmoil’s instability.
The fervour of the cold winds.
The strongest petrichor.
This turmoil’s inability to sooth.
While the love of the pluviophiles
Soars high above the clouds;
The land beneath suffers a havoc
Getting drowned in the rainwater
And the noise of the chaos caused thereof
As a single drop slides on the window,
And someone’s gloomy eyes glued to it,
The mist is simply a reflection of the condition,
Of someone’s mind, of someone’s heart,
Or just turmoil going on in nature.
This lacking solace of nature
So shared by the heart, makes wonder
If the claps of thunder are the screams of joy
Or the cries of anger, led
By the daunting streaks of lightning
And then the night crawls in,
The changing hues of the sky,
Orange, pink, purple, indigo,
The shimmery stars are still dimmed though,
The rain is still boisterous though,
But the darkness hiding the dark clouds,
Tells everyone that the turmoil will end.
Why was suddenly the darkness
A sign of hope? The silence that it brought,
Better over the sound of battering rains?
For once, there were wishes of a harsh sunlight
In the sleeping night,
In the hopes of it vaporizing the flooded chaos.
But nature takes its own sweet time,
Time to weep, time to unwind.
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