Testament of raindrops

The thunder rolls, and something within me eases.
Raindrops mingle with my tears in quiet caresses.
Every forming puddle reveals my echoing traces.

The sky grows dark, and my inner world awakens in its shade.
My mind reaches beyond its frame, conquering the entire sphere.
The gloomy clouds become all that I create; their majesty is my awe.

They are old companions, trustworthy comrades.
How many times they have saved me, I cannot confess.
They held me in their winds, and I still remain in their press.

Each raindrop is a messenger, its wetness deeper than theories.
I greet them, descendants of the heavens.
They never cease falling, like infallible soldiers.

They admire me, loving through coldness alone.
I accept their quiet nobility, and the sky understands me.
I ascend to their heights, and I erase what came before.

I mourn those who stand before me; this is the shape of my ancient melancholy.
With eyes accustomed to the darkness, I gaze into it; this is how I see resolutely.
Even if I fall ill, I do not retreat indoors; this is the way I endure steadfastly.

I let the rain soak my hair; my body trembles with cold.
Yet in its embrace, my soul remains bold.
My heart is always young, though I am centuries old.

― Atrona Grizel