Mashhura Rahmatova
(Chirokchi district, Uzbekistan)


The Rain Falls

Potting my feelings
Requesting for my pampering
The rain falls.
It washes my hair taking care
And whispers softly: -Keep under cover!
Not resting even for a while
The rain falls.
I immersed in my dreams
Grief is forgotten at once
There is nostalgia on my brief
The rain falls.
A hot wind is very tender
Itís smell like a flowerís
The more I like it,
the more it became happy
The rain falls.

© Author

(Published in Kafla Intercontinental - Summer 2013)