Down comes the rain

Down comes the rain, untimely October rain.
The tears slowly poured down my face as I walked home beneath the October rain,

The fears slowly let go of my pain, as I cried with my heart, cause my spirit was in disdain.

The gears of my life suddenly picked up great pace, as I vowed to love harder and again,

My heart grew numb, with a great big pain, I slowly try to let go… as I walk in the rain.

Look at the sky.. the stars in the night,

Look at me mother, the tears in my eyes,

I cry for you Father, cause you cant ever hold me tight,

The love that you gave me,

Gone with you this time.


I look at my dreams,

Down comes the rain,

I walk with my heart,

Trying to let go of the pain.


I seek a new light, A new spirit and life,

I’m happy to have loved, than to have not loved at all.


I stroll across the bridge,

I see kittens within my sight,


New born life’s, that’s the circle of life.

The rain pours down,

Drenching me and I try,

To let go of the pain,

That I’ve borne inside.


Down comes the rain,

Untimely October rain.


White light and stars,

Like tears in my eyes.

Forsaken love,

Like dew in morning light.


And again down comes the rain, untimely October rain.

A touching poem

A touching poem jointly written by 2 people : 1 army officer's mother and the other who is an army officer's wife...
.by Paromah Sen on Wednesday, February 23, 2011 at 9:24pm.


Please Mr. Terrorist man, don’t shoot my man, we just got married, sometime last Jan.

I met him on a sunny day, there were clear blue skies on that lovely day,

Please don’t shoot him and take him away.

------****

Please Mr. Terrorist man, don’t shoot my son, I have only one, I beg you, don’t take him away.

He joined the army, just like his dad.

He joined to save his country, please don’t make him a news fad.

------****

Please Mr. Terrorist man, don’t shoot my man, when we got married, sometime last Jan,

He took me to his unit, somewhere close to you, a place called Mamoon,

Told me to stay there and that he’d be back soon.

I spent a long time sitting, whiling my time away, the loneliness killing me, eating me away.

I thought of you and what you do, I thought of you and hated you,

But that’s no reason to shoot my man, I beg you to spare him Mr. Terrorist man.

------****

Please Mr. Terrorist man, don’t shoot my son, It’s just that he doesn’t like anyone who,

Would make his country a fool. You fight for a different cause and kill the wrong ones.

But my son is just a pawn in the play, just a soldier, don’t kill him for heaven’s sake.

------****

Please Mr. Terrorist man, I don’t know what else to say,

We’ve moved from where you are but life still isn’t stable for me anyway.

Because of you and others like you, he can be called to the border anyday,

Every 2 years I have to let him leave me to fight people like you away.

It’s a cycle in this army life, tell me, how can I be a happy and calm army wife?

------****

Please Mr. Terrorist man, here my pleas, I love my son, I will, till my end,

Without him, I’d be a dent. You’ve already taken his father from me, Left me alone, to my grief,

Listen to this new wife please; spare her the pain and agony.

And please don’t take my son from me.

------****



Written jointly by 2 people: 1 is an army officer's mother and the 2nd is an army officer's wife.

The Bag theory

Ever seen a woman without a handbag as her constant companion? If you have it’d have been a very one-off, rare occasion.
Women of every generation usually and mostly tend to and want to carry around a little or big thing called a handbag with them wherever they go, even if it’s for a walk… (Remember those small little bags where they put their phones and a few currency notes into)….?
I like bags; I am a woman, more of a girl. And the idea of a bag-less journey anywhere terrifies me. And I think most women are the same...it’s like a biological “need” to carry one lip balm / other face-coloring items / some money / and a bunch of useless other things ALL the time.
I always wondered about this. Until I came upon one of my own theories. This bag-theory suggests that the SIZE of a woman’s bag could define the baggage (I don’t mean physical weight of the baggage) but mental and emotional baggage a woman carries around with her,
The bigger the bag, the bigger the emotional nonsense inside her and the smaller the bag, the smaller would be the size of her feelings of hate and regret and similar others.

Ideally then as per this theory: a completely “chilled out” woman would be one who doesn’t carry a bag, at all. Ever. Hmmm. Makes sense?
I would like to make this theory scientific, but, since I’m not a scientist I don’t think that’s quite possible.

This takes me to the subject of men. Since they don’t carry bags in general (unless they are students or office goers) does this theory apply to them? I mean, does it mean that they never have baggage of any kind (and I don’t mean physical bag here). A wallet – small bag – same thing?

No. Men don’t pass off as ones without baggage; I would like to think that there is another object around which their mental and emotional baggage content can be quantified. But I’d need some months of research for this and well, till then let’s just say that a bag a day keeps the "baggage" safe.