The soft pulse bleeds,
The sigh bleeps,
The vacuum inside the cells hurt,
A tingling bell still sings,
The symphony of probable rainfall.
The drizzle wet the earth,
Dry meadow is elated to hear,
The music of the rain
Gripping and fascinating like the former period,
Yet the calender changed the year.
Days passed followed by months,
The waiting intensify
With the vibrant colour,
The melancholy song brightens with the hope,
One day cuckoo will return.
The waterfall in the terrain,
Difficult and dangerous to reach the point of origin,
The flow is gushing,
Lovers enjoying the charm ,without thinking.