It was raining heavily in the evening. I sat in the balcony with my notebook in hand. These lines spew out of me onto the paper.
Beautiful rain, you bring-in bounty,
you bring-in relief.
Beautiful rain, you bring in memories
of paper boats and power cuts.
Beautiful rain, you bring nature to the lives that see only concrete.
Beautiful rain, you bring in perspective,
into the lives that are closeted.
The man on the scooter curses you to stop,
the woman on the balcony encourages you to go on.
But, you yield to none; subtly communicating to man that he is not in charge, that he is not the master.
See beautiful rain, you are a philosopher too.
When are you most beautiful, O beautiful rain?
Is it when you touch the parched land?
Or is it when you mix into the mud and escape as an ethereal earthly scent?
Is it with a cup of coffee? Or with a glass of whiskey?
Is it when we watch you from the safety of our homes? Or is it when we run open arms into you with no care in the world?
Like the leaves liven up when you touch them, O beautiful rain. Our lives do too..
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