Sorrows held back and stored
within, break loose, ooze
out, comes down as rain.

The pitter-patter of drops
scatter dreams; memories
are flooded into, destroyed;
it rains and rains, non-stop.
Desires, collected
by stretching the hand
towards the sky,
carefully stored in the
hand's bowl, slipped
through the fingers.

Drenched, turning into
water, filled my eyes
with the downpour.

Lips open, but before
words can change into
smile, thick clouds come
to engulf the silence.

The drizzle of tears
can't be seen; head
to toe pours the rain,
dripping sorrow.

Like this, like that, what
sort of rain is this? -
The pouring rain broke the
sky's heart, and the
ground I stand on
is full of muddy slush.

Like that -
Like this -
what sort of rain is this?
In this pouring rain
the sky's heart breaks,
the ground I stand on
turns muddy slush.

Translated by Chitra Panikkar and Mamta Sagar