Rain
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Loading ...rain fingers not heard
tapping notes on glass tablas
no childhood window
6 Comments
Short but very difficult to understand…
To be honest I didn’t understand at all. But very curious to know as what you really mean. I would really appreciate if you can kindly elaborate…
Krishna, Rajdeep,
thanks for the enquiries. A poem written while lying sick in bed listening to the rain against the window. So what? you might think.
When I a boy we had a big window in our bedroom, something like 5ft high x 7ft wide – a large central pane, 2 side sashes and 3 small panes at the top, all single glazed in a steel frame. In the winter everything was very rigid and a rain drop would make a slightly different sound against each pane of glass. It always reminded me of tabla playing and with the wind as drum rolls would lull me to peaceful sleep. In times since with double-glazing and heavy PVC, and wood window frames, the music of the rain on glass is rarely there and I miss it and the peaceful feelings it used to place in me…or maybe it is something else….have I lost a connection along the way?..
Fergus
A nice poem with a poignant
touch. You have elaborated
the situation, clearly, Gion.
Cograts for the century.
Whenever possible I buy blank greeting cards and write my own messages. It always feels good to create from my heart. I believe poetry is all around, in every thing and action and spontaneous speech. Renewed by the human spirit's appreciation of beauty and goodness. There is no unchanging standard that can reside in perfection in books rarely read.
I am a husband and father of 2. Starting to write down before forgetting.
Know what I like when I've read it, trying to get to grips with photography.
Gentleman of leisure, not uneducated, all spelling and grammar errors I lay upon my eyesight.
Nice one. Liked very much.
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