The wistful beauty of rain
With its gelidity of wind wrapped in pain
With its heavy clouds floating here and there
Runs through the pensive atmosphere….
The little lad of years ten
In the sepulcher remain
Will he never come tomorrow? Or yesterday
With flowers grew upon the monsoon way,
Spoke of the charming music and his unknown tales
Which to recall, his mother faints and fails….
To her from dusk to dawn
She goes on to mourn
From sunrise to sunset
She rises from the dreams of unfold rest…