There's a resplendent rain in the city today.
It falls, loud, assertive;
Almost like a sheet.
Drenches everything, human and it's creations.
The clouds are spread far and deep,
All colors of grey in the now dim sky.
There's the sun somewhere,
But it's shy of the lightening.
Proud sun, shy of the light of the clouds.
What it can't see, from where it's hidden,
Is that lightening is a mere flash.
And a flash of intensity, always dies.
What reigns is soft, warm rays;
Of the oft revered sun.
But what's hidden, must comes out;
And so does the sun,
Peek out to fulfill its destiny.
It tears the clouds, while their tears fall.
Surprised, the water refracts.
It's path alters, it's limpid transparency distorts.
Water and light,
Two singular, mighty forces collide;
And break into a spectrum of colors;
The birth of the rainbow.
Happiness: A miracle born of pain and hope.
She looks out her window,
Desolate rain washes away the dead dust,
And the live plants alike.
But this river of loss is too far below,
For her to see.
What she gazes on is the space between the two opposing windows,
Where the rain has chipped away the rock.
Just beyond, lies the miraculous rainbow,
Just below, lies the tumultuous river.
Yet all she sees,
Is the chipped rock.
Where are you, and what can't you see?