It is a tingle
Not the kind you’d like to have
Or you yearn to feel.
You sense the heat rise
Heart pumps faster than ever
Cold hands clench hard.
Without a warning
Fingers starts to wildly thump
Writing your way out?
Coming to your wits
You begin to see a soul
Confused and shaken.
When it mellows down
To a degree that shame one
You’d hope it’s not real.
I was wondering
What Haiku meant to poets
So I surfed the net.
Surprised me a bit
Those Japanese poems they made
Could be translated.
So here it is then
My take on five-seven-five
Thought I won’t survive?
The green-eyed monster
Is eyeing you at a corner.
Waiting so patiently
To grab your sanity.
Life may offer chances
But not to all passers.
Either you’re born with it
Or work hard to get it.
Fame, wealth, or skill
Have one common fill.
They all love to latch
The sturdiest of catch.
about the rain 