Rain: the different night

I don’t remember the night,
When my poems were with me,
And even in my dreams, I was a poem.

I don’t remember the night,
When the mad rain sang
The song of peril
And even in the sleep,
City moaned as it saw it’s nearing end.

I don’t remember the night,
When you kept talking and
I, being engrossed into unawareness,
Had your marks caught in the words.

When the morning came,
The rain has been slow,
Sun rays are trapped in cage og clouds
A morning has been put on the world, but a delayed one,
Sleep broke, I came to know,
There is poem aside my bed,
And it bears your signs,
There are drops on palm,
Where rain has rested for a while.
Now voices of rain and yours mingle
And, my day refuses to move ahead.