Raindrops on My Windowpane
Don’t you feel jealous when they touch me like that?
When they feel my skin and wet it like that?
Doesn’t it hurt you to know that I revel in their sound and that your voice, in the song of the raindrops, dies out?
Do they mock you when I am theirs?
They do that to me…
I hate then when they feel your lips
I hate them charting their ways into your being
They kill me when they drown my sound;
They burn me when they touch you when I am not around.
Raindrops on my window panes live like me
One drop at a time, one moment it is
One moment they are born they fall and then die
They are no tear drops, no.
No children of desire they are; No wanting or need.
They are the result of a game played; of a connived history.
photo courtsey : ad-infinitum