Wet are those leaves which are now sparkling with freshness
The rains did them good
But my eyes are wet and my cheeks are dry; when will this monsoon end
I hate rains... On the window panes and hate them on me...
There is a thunderstorm inside me, waiting to flow out;
Why are few words always used and not meant,
And why we build hopes on them,
It's a favour that the rain is now washing them all;
But here I'm
drenched in my rainfall,
The flood is all mine,
I don't expect miracles from you now,
It will wash me away... And leave no trace.
I would love to see your contentment then, your love with yourself, as I drain away with you in my heart.
The rains did them good
But my eyes are wet and my cheeks are dry; when will this monsoon end
I hate rains... On the window panes and hate them on me...
There is a thunderstorm inside me, waiting to flow out;
Why are few words always used and not meant,
And why we build hopes on them,
It's a favour that the rain is now washing them all;
But here I'm
drenched in my rainfall,
The flood is all mine,
I don't expect miracles from you now,
It will wash me away... And leave no trace.
I would love to see your contentment then, your love with yourself, as I drain away with you in my heart.