raindrops keep falling on my head

what would be the screams saying,
when they impact!
the millions of little faces
flinging themselves from the clouds
a lovely serenading synchronized swim
through the air
the bullet speed
mass suicide
of rain drops.

we can bathe in
their mortality,
and they never even knew their names.
to think of the efforts
to forgo identity in order to
cherish our bodies and planet
with the nourishment
of airborne aquifers.

what must the animals think
as they reach upwards and
taste the sky’s tears?

what glamour they must feel
when the air instills
a new solid state on their bodies
and crystallises their forms
when winter’s might
crushes the temperature lower
and they are our snowflakes,
the building blocks of every
igloo and ski terrain?

and how sad the clouds must be,
every time they mourn their tears
they open up the vents again,
and out fling
the latest batch.

I will cheer them up,
with my hope and aspirations.