“Ink in the rain”

Ink in the rain, a trembling star  
Draws midnight rivers where paper scars,  
The page once white—a silent plain—  
Now drinks the sky through watery veins.  

Droplets tumble, dim and cold,  
Rewriting what the stories told:  
A letter smears, becomes a sigh,  
While meaning slips and colors fly.  

A lover’s note—now pools and lines  
Twist vowels with the wind’s designs,  
A poet’s dream dissolves, set free  
In runnels blurting to the sea.  

So ink in rain, so thought in storm,  
Is never idle—never warm;  
It dances, drifts, and drips away,  
Yet marks the soul in softest gray.  

Tomorrow, let the sun appear,  
The page is wrinkled, message clear:  
The rain may claim what’s writ in ink,  
But leaves new space to pause and think.

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