It is Still the Showers

Rain came
Lashing at the trees and the houses
Displaces the soil here and there,
But did not enter the rooms
The air inside which
Smouldered with gloom.

In earlier showers,
Front yard to the heart' s intimate chambers
Cooled down,
The joy was sheerly our own,
Without reason,
Except for sky's unpolluted tears of  in torrents
Being the only thrilling aerial incident,
That warmed up the interiors
Of the earth and the spirit.

It still rains,
The pitter patter of the drops
Falling on the leaves,
Serenity passes by the window
Its face indistinct
It' s pace hurried,
As if houses are grooves
For eternally parched beings,
Who do not seek peace anymore.