Singing 2016

It was the rain that
sang to the blood,
its own secret melody dancing , swirling.
Every crimson drop
caught the rhythm of the water
as it slid from the roof to the window sill.
Dark, dark red, mysterious and nourishing
I felt the redness-
hot and frothing
like warm, comforting chai.
I smelled the dank odour-
deep and sensuous
like moist, fertile soil.
And the rain pounded,
relentless, beguiling, sighing and breathing.
before you stood at my door.

Published by theyogicgarden

Writer, gardener, yogi

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