The First Rain

(The first rain is in many ways like first love. Pure, innocent, spontaneous, unrestrained, defying cessation, or interruption. While the passion it ignites is unmatched, the memories endure for ever, always enkindling a tender serenity and a sweet nostalgia.)

The first rain, a memory carved deep,
Echoing through time, where memories sleep,
Its fragrance lingers in the corridors of thought,
A cherished imprint, a treasure forever sought.

One’s first love, an indelible mark,
Embraced by the soul, an eternal spark,
Its tenderness remains, never to fade,
A sanctuary of emotions firmly displayed.

Behold! The first rain, a mystical dance,
Unveiling secrets in a passionate trance,
Its intoxication, a spell never broken,
Like love’s first bloom, forever spoken.

With each droplet’s fall, a symphony divine,
A melody of grace, an ethereal sign,
An elixir of whispers, the earth’s sweetest kiss,
Rekindling life with a tantalizing bliss.

Oh, how it descends, in a gentle cascade,
A silver tapestry upon which dreams are laid,
Reviving senses long dormant and still,
Awakening the soul with nature’s tranquil thrill.

The first rain, a potion that bewitches the air,
An enchanting embrace, beyond compare,
Like the ardour of love, ablaze and untamed,
Two souls drenched in rapture, forever unblamed.

The earth, anointed with fragrant delight,
A canvas adorned in hues of moonlight,
A thirst quenched, a barren gloom made whole,
Passions awakened, desires uncontrolled.

Just as love’s first touch ignites a flame,
Unleashing torrents that refuse to tame,
So does the rain, with fervent might,
Awaken dormant spirits, an eternal flight.

In the presence of love, the heart awakes,
A symphony of senses, a love that forsakes,
Boundaries and limits, an immortal design,
A surge of emotions, like the first rain’s line.

So let this poem, like the rain’s gentle fall,
Evoke the depths of love, its sweetest call,
Forever entwined, like the first rain’s caress,
A tapestry of emotions, in poetry’s finesse.