Rain

Tiny drops of the moist hop,
Fall with the wind in a misty crop,
Juggle, muggle and struggle with the dirt,
An identity gone, mixed in the dirt,
They moist the tiniest of the notions,
Sometimes even initiate motions,
Drenched in the rain I was wondering,
Is it me or the heart that is mistering,
Everyday we wake upto crawl,
Ever night we sleep into a brawl,
There is a hope that keeps us strong,
Tomorrow is a new day, Push through the throng,
The drops run with the wind,
Freshen every core till the hind,
They create fragrance far too brown,
An imagination grown of a distant crown,
We fail to notice the small in life,
The drops being the smallest prife,
And tend to run after the big,
Small and small become so big,
They stream into a river,
Fall down the gorge,
Become a sea farer,
They lose,
They gain,
In the end it all becomes the same,
Struggling with the pace of my life,
I realised this in a tone so rife,
Juggle, muggle and struggle with the dirt,
An identity gone, mixed in the dirt.

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