It rains. The roofs shake and shiver.
Rain is pain to all men and all beasts.
Yet rain is gain to all men and all beast.
Rain is like a whistle which halts both the rich and the poor
Rain is a stain which disappears with time.
Although not all Rain is pain, all rain is gain and pain is like rain.
When whirling winds snarl at your roof, baring fangs like angry hounds.
When ice balls and thunder storm barks at you with utmost malignance.
When light gives way to darkness and it all seems the roof over your head may soon yield to the menacing threats of lightening spikes and heavy downpour,
and then the warms in your bowels seem to have joined forces with your foes,
clawing your intestines, urging you to flee asylum and attend to nature's call.
When night thickens with obscurity, oblivion calling at your door,
When it seems that morning may never return from exile.
Close your eyes, savour the silence beneath the echoes of your sorrows.
Just sleep through the rains.
When you awake, it will all seem like a dream.