The sound of winter,
rain and thunder
The sound of winter,
rain and thunder
Rain, when it falls, renews hope in souls, as it renews the growth of trees and plants,
because it is a symbol of giving.
There is no rain without clouds
Does it rain without clouds?
When the rain stops
we forget the umbrella
How can I wait for the rain if I do not plant the ears.
Do I say under the pouring rain I hate you or I love you.
The last rain is like the first cry,
suffocating us with silence and melancholy.
The rain falls and washes away the grudges of the chests and the blackness of the hearts.
The rain provokes us nostalgia and melancholy for days gone by and will not return. If it rains,
I have an indescribable longing to cry.
After the storm comes the rain and after the clouds the sun rises.
The town wore the rain as the bereaved wore mourning clothes.
The sea is the first inspiration,
the rain drops the revelation.
Your friends who love to walk in the rain, do not overdo them.
Come let us watch the rain in silence and glad our prayers may be answered.
Rain is life, joy is a child running in her pink dress.
When I read these words, I felt something like rain in my throat.
It is not the fault of the rain that the soil turned into mud and did not become a forest.
There is no point in taking shelter in the canopy of words,
for silence in front of the rain is more beautiful. I won't carry an umbrella,
I'll stand in the rain until you come, let's go into the café together.
In your darkened room, you only hear the sound of rain hitting your window.
I longed for the rain to knock on my window,
to spread happiness throughout my kingdom. It is not the pure hearts that avoid the rain,
but the ones that carry umbrellas.
The city is not so bad; Because when it is washed in the rain,
it becomes delicious. From me the soul is in a beautiful homeland,
which only falls like a kiss on the cheek of a child in the pouring rain.
Had it not been for the collision of the clouds, the rain would not have fallen,
and had it not been for the friction of minds, the thought would not have ignited.
Waiting for you is like waiting for rain on hot summer days, when the sun refuses to leave.
Even after you are gone,your gifts still fall on me like raindrops, amazing in their grandmothers.
I love the winter sun that comes shyly, and the bright stars in the evening that decorate the sky inside me.
Those who are for freedom and against incitement are the people who want rain not thunder.
I wasn't crying, but the friends were disappearing from my eyes like car lights in the rain.
With the touches of rain, on the cheeks of my little town, I smell in his breath the sweet scent of your perfume.
I love the smell of rain, the cool breeze dancing the tree branches, and the calm wave that flows through the sea.
I wonder if those drops are like your kind words, and whether the winds will carry into your simple green life.
We hear the rain falling but not the snow falling, the roaring of light pains, but not the silence of deep pains.
With the return of winter and rain bearing these innocent dreams, spring comes with its flowers, so life becomes sweet after the rain.
My homeland is a bag and my bag is a homeland, the gypsies are a people hanging out in songs and smoke, a people looking for a place between the shrapnel and the rain.
Your nature was like a seed in me, and it was nurtured in the rainy season and atrophied in the dryness of the heat, but it remained through the ages.
You watch the beauty of the rain, so you smile and forget your worries, even for a simple moment, and feel nostalgic for everything, for your childhood.
I love winter without summer...because when the rain falls, the dyes are removed from the faces, and everything goes back to its origin without deception or fabrication. Fall, rain, and wash its wounds and pains, fall and dissipate sorrows, end those torments, fall, rain, before drought and diaspora overwhelm it.
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