Rains of mood

Sun in sky, songs of hopes flowing outside,
Still its all dark, when it rains inside,

Roaring clouds of sadness, in skies of bleak empty,
Pour drops of detachment, filled with misery,

With thunders of loathe, and rocks of bottom,
It ever rains hard inside, with greys of autumn,

One may take all, but words of own,
Saying one's worthless, despised by all,

Inner rains defy weather, autumn or spring,
Bows in sky falter before swords of saddening,

One holds oneself, ignore's one's inner seasons,
Contains floods of emotions, with dams of reasons,

And one day the levee breaks, judgement gets drowned,
With waters of depression, village of conscience gets swamped,

For feelings may be primal, vague and unsound,
And may be irrational, with no basis or ground,

But drawn from raw self, they are resolute,
Our naked expressions, awful and yet true,

For when one's sad, can't say otherwise,
Murk seems deep, as sun may never rise,

And it "is" dark, damp, barren and deprived,
But rains of mood, like all, cease only with time,

Weathers of melancholy "are" here, rains of sadness "are" true,
Yet, the summer of ease, season of fulfillment, will come through.