TORRENTS

Crystal shower from the blues,
   Or falling pieces of sky,
Brushstrokes of a master whiz
   Or tears of a doleful cry.

Washing away the grimy fence,
   Sooty roofs and soiled eyes,
Driving the austere minds indoor
   The blithe dances otherwise.

Curled up cats and jittery dogs
   And cuckoos swaying to jovial notes;
Few frowning eyebrows and wet ankles,
   Yet gleefully twirling paper boats.

Spread your hands out of the window,
   Feel music on your fingertip,
Or get drenched in the pouring sparkle,
   Or just snuggle up and sleep.

Some do hit the glistening roads
   With rusty bikes and sodden cheeks,
Bask in the wet kiss of heaven,
   Beam as the clouds make love to peaks.

It soaks the pauper as the prince,
   Spares no wisdom, truth or lie,
Washes away all muddled hues,
   Except the ones on a butterfly!

No syntax told, no musical notes,
   Yet a rhythm second to none.
By my window I behold the magic,
   As it whisks me to Wonderland!
-dp