Drops from heaven.

I love the rain on Sundays,

the abandoned streets

are blessed with silence.

Most people have sought shelter

inside the belly of the city,

where the rain can’t enter,

the earthy smell of rain

out of reach for the senses.


On Sundays in the rain

the roof of the buildings

are cooled by the teardrops of heaven.

Everything is refreshed.

Solitude endorses the solitary.

The sun would have required participation,

The rain encourages contemplation.


The rain on Sundays,

almost holy,

wets my face

as I bike


the abandoned city.

History runs through me

the faster I go.

Myths re-awake,

battles and heroes

land with every raindrop

on my nose.


~ by Aquatic Poetry on June 24, 2012.

2 Responses to “Drops from heaven.”

  1. There is something magical about rain and wandering the city without the crowds…sounds wonderful.

  2. It’s like the city breathes, finally peaceful, under the drops. It’s magical.

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