Poets are liars,
They kept praising the rain,
And making me believe,
Rain can solve,
All your problems,
It will make you fall asleep,
And make you fall in love,
But they never told me,
That the rain is moody,
And makes me wait,
And comes at the odd hour,
It comes drifting,
Only when I am vulnerable,
Only to fill the river to the brim
When I am lonely,
Or without an umbrella
The rain is mischievous,
It doesn't announce its arrival
I kept waiting,
With my love,
For the first rain,
But it never came
I hated the rain,
For being absent,
And above all,
My quibble still present,
It chose to fall,
On the day we part.
©Snehal Deb #napowrimo
