Raindrops
They fall in puddles, run into streams
Reach far away rivers, emptying in seas
They kiss scorched lands, turn into steam
Or end in ploughed, eager fields
They may fall on steel, cement outcrops
Flood every road, every house in their path
They do fall on garbage, stinking landfills
Merge with sludge, sewage and spills
Raindrops all, before they fall
Do they look below, scan the ground
Wherever they may land, begin new life
Do they have a say or any choice
©️ShashikantDudhgaonkar
A very interesting concept Shashi.
Yes no can has any control where they will be born, in what country and in what religion and therefore should not feel proud or depressed because of that.
Very true my friend
✨️👏🏻✨️ Shashi ✨️👏🏻✨️
Thanks David
Wonderful poetry, how you’ve interpreted and ironically personified rain drops and used them metaphorically for . . . us. At least, that’s how I read it and enjoyed.
Yes. It is about us. We have no say about where we are born.
Thanks a lot for your comments and thanks for going through my poetry.
Very interesting. Thanks Anita
Thanks