Beauty has its voice
You can only hear it with earnest heart
When the moon goes down
Joys sprout, and break the ground
The heart awakens
Seizes the moment of stillness…
It might be the late coffee last night, or
Blame it to the weather
Tactless, mindless and gauche
The mood drifts in the wonderland
The whistling wind
Mystic, cool and calm
A voice so smooth and deep
Resonating the wail of my heart
Absurdity is real in the sentimental realm
Truthfulness reign over reality
When it rains in my youth
There are no boundaries, only mountain and trees
Something deep within I cannot but detect
An apparition perhaps, a fleeting dream
A sweet caress beyond my reach
Now all unveil in this Rain City
