When I was writing this poem, I had intended to write on the pros and cons of rain, but I realized as I wrote on, that rain could be a reminder of some hurt in one’s life, a source of sadness for some. In my continent there are some very crude and barbaric practices that exist in some communities, though they are on the decline. One of them is premature, forced marriage for underage girls. For a moment, let’s put ourselves in the shoes of such a girl. Maybe you could help some, in some way, or maybe give an idea how to. Read on!

It falls from the sky,

A result of heavy,

Pregnant clouds,

That meteorologists call,


Standing in the rain,

It is so refreshing,

As the rain falls,

To my face,

And wipes all my tears.

Playing in the rain,

All so muddy,

As we sang the song,

The song of the rain.

I slip and roll,

I am all muddy and wet,

Yet I play in the rain.

But I am no longer,

A child,

I am worried,

There is no water,

In my kitchen,

The taps have been dry,

For eternity.

Run outside,

To the gutter,

And I watch,

The water,

Fill my bucket.

I remember,

The day I saw you,

Walking away,

In the rain,

That was the last time,

I saw you.

Before I saw,


Landslide kills 40.

I ran and found your name,

First on the list,

I cried,

Not because I loved you,

But because I knew,

That I had entered,

A new class,

The class of the poor,

The voiceless,

A class of poverty.

The five children,

Playing in the rain,

Look up to me,

The uneducated mom,

The poverty stricken mom.

Yet I remember,

Singing in the rain,

As a little girl,

Without a care in the world,

Unaware of what lurked,

In the near future,

When I was married off,

And the men,

Who made my life hell,

My politician,

My clan,

And my husband,

Who walked away,

In the rain,

Are nowhere to be seen.


3 thoughts on “Rain

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