A Few Drops of Rain

I hear a few raindrops making a soundUpon the roof of my house,They draw me into thought,Into a world of intimate memories.

And if I were up on the roof,Perhaps I would be able to touchThe dark sky that pours down rain,But this rain is a coolness,That calms my soul,As if I were doing yoga.

I wonder if I can go on like this,Remaining silent,In deep thoughts and memories,Soaked like that by the rain on the roof,And I continue my lines,Casting them onto this white paper,Where the ink has become a black stain,Just like the dark sky.

Will I be able to read these words later,Or will I only keep them in my memory,And no longer be able to utter even a single phoneme,From the black stains, where nothing is seen clearly.Only the rain is heard on the roof of my house,And my lines remain without a phrase.