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Rain

Updated: Dec 6, 2022

By Rangskhembor Mawblei








These are lines you know

drawn by the clouds,

drifting with the wind

defining an empty space.

Our naked eye would have missed

but as they draw,

a new space emerge

nothingness becomes an arena.

Hatching with every drop of it

engraving the soil,

strokes after strokes

again and again and again.

Finally they leave not a mark, but

as I could still feel the mist,

the Sun pierced the clouds

and colour came out, seven of them.

I finally see what they have been preparing

I can't define it's beauty, but

after forty days in an ark

Noah knows how it feels.


By Rangskhembor Mawblei






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