Every drop that falls upon you
leaves an impression,
Gives you a deep wound
a claw-like sensation.
You see them falling
hurting and penetrating,
Stabbing with a point like
abrasive long Weapon,
But what can You do??

Nothing, it's true!

Cause it is the rain,
A rain of clumsy pain.

Which never die nor drain,
No one stays untouched
with it,
Nobody says they are worth
of it.

Within a flash of time, it catches all the strain.
The pace starts to increase
tremendously,
With increasing the extent
of wound,
With increasing penetration
with an increasing sting,
The rain that is caused by affections,
Which does start with frictional
fight with heart and its sensations.

It always is a game of heart,
To make your gripped.
As feelings deepen,
The mud keeps water dripped.
It becomes more intact with
your response and react,
You,
thus can only see this mournful act,
you getting in and in
lost somewhere within.