The rain blasts, from the mundane husk
of daily cares saving me today.
And in such weather what I’d wish to ask,
if not enjoying reading and to pray?
I’m letting go of my all concerns, -
all worries are forgotten with a book
of poetry, for which my soul yearns,
while passers-by are hurrying and look
so disoriented, fighting with the storm,
with the umbrellas for this wind too weak.
They long for homes cosy and warm,
while at the moment they shelters seek.
The rain is banging like a psychopath,
on windows, demanding to be let
inside, and expressing all its wrath,
appears being furiously upset.
Thus, this November’s character is shown,
when, like a despot, ripping leaves from trees,
with violence, it now makes us known
the season, when all things begin to frеeze.
It’s almost like power was seized
by globalists, filled media with lies,
the wind and rain, acting as they please,
took suddenly all people by surprise.
In tune with the authorities, they sing
a dirge about us, intimidating,
and making us forget about the spring,
and their cruel rules today dictating.
What’s this to me? I brew a cup of tea
and rest, immersed in lines, full of grace.
When words reverberate inside me,
their peace and beauty now I embrace.
When sadists try to rule by using fear,
committing, unashamed, evil acts,
I let my soul another voice hear,
and can forget this madness and relax.
The words have healing powers and so
I am absorbing good. It still exists
in harmonies of poetry that glow,
which in this world apparently are missed.
A word for me, like nectar for a bee,
or for a fashionista - a new dress,
there’s always delight in words for me,
which helps me to reduce all life’s stress.
Like for a blade of grass – a ray of sun,
it is a gift that inspiration feeds.
This helps me madness of this world to shun,
and this is all that now my soul needs.
17-18.12.2021
Чтение в проливной дождь
http://stihi.ru/2021/11/01/5165