*The Raindrops*
🖋️By Sweta Chakraborty
The raindrops fall, so soft, so clear,
Awakening love when hearts are near.
In lovers’ eyes, they weave a song,
A melody where souls belong.
The very drops, in sorrow’s guise,
Draw tears from under shattered skies.
The poor, beneath a broken roof,
Feel helpless in their harshest truth.
Yet for the saints, the drops descend,
A sacred hymn where prayers ascend.
In every drop, God’s presence flows,
A silent call the spirit knows.
For farmers’ fields, the rain delights,
It dances on the earth so bright.
Each drop, a promise, seeds embrace,
Of golden harvest, nature’s grace.
But potters weep—too soon, too fast,
The rain defeats their work, their past.
The clay remains, unshaped, unbaked,
A dream undone, a hope misplaced.
These drops, the same for all they meet,
But life, through minds and hearts, repeats.
One’s joy, another’s grief and pain,
A thousand truths within the rain.
The world, like raindrops, takes its hue,
From how you see, from what you do.
Change your mind, let courage rise,
And lift your gaze to brighter skies.
Blame not the world, nor fortune’s tide,
Transform yourself from deep inside.
For in the rain, the light will gleam,
If you believe, and chase your dream.
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