Thinking of Those Without Homes

Sometimes when it rains,
I feel happy
and wish it would not stop,
because I say,
the rain washes away all my sad memories.

Sometimes when it rains,
I hear the drops of rain
going chapha, chapha, chapha.
It flows down and down
to the bottom of my heart.

Sometimes when it rains,
I remember when I got the flu
from playing in the rain:
My mother was angry at me,
but I always file it under my good memories.

Sometimes when it rains,
I smell the clear air.
I smell the freshness of the land,
and the greenness of the world,
and I wish the rain would not stop.

Sometimes when it rains,
I think about the people who don't have homes.
Where are they sleeping?
Are they warm or cold?
I wonder if I'm the only one thinking of it,
if I'm the only one who feels their pain,
and if others are doing anything about their pain.

Sometimes when it rains,
I imagine myself in the same position
as the people without homes.
I imagine myself without warm clothes.
I imagine myself being alone.
But most of all,
I imagine myself doing something about it.

-Philasande Yengwa