Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Rain & Harvest to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
After weeks of dust and dryness, the sky began to frown,
And a bruise of purple clouds came rolling slowly down.
The first drop hit my forehead, and the second hit my hand,
And a third one kissed the thirsty and the cracked and crumbling land.
Then the heavens opened widely, and the cloudburst came in sheets,
And the children ran out laughing on the dusty, drumming streets.
The smell of wet earth rose like incense from the ground,
And the frogs began their chorus with a rich and joyful sound.
The farmers stood in doorways with their faces to the sky,
And they thanked the ancient rain with a tear and with a sigh.
For nothing is as sweet as a rain that comes at last,
To wash away the thirsty days and the sorrows of the past.
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Commentary
After a long drought, the first real rain is a celebration. This poem follows a cloudburst from the first drop to the frogs’ chorus and lets the whole village feel it.
“After weeks of dust and dryness, the sky began to frown,” and “a bruise of purple clouds came rolling slowly down.” The first drops hit “my forehead” and “my hand,” and a third “kissed the thirsty and the cracked and crumbling land.” Then “the cloudburst came in sheets,” and “the children ran out laughing.”
“The smell of wet earth rose like incense from the ground,” and the frogs start “their chorus.” Farmers stand “with their faces to the sky,” thanking the rain “with a tear and with a sigh.” The poem says that “nothing is as sweet as a rain that comes at last.”