I woke up today in a sudden, mistaken trepidation,
And darkness had enveloped the city.
Outside the window, I saw branches bending in the strong gusts of wind.
My eyes, still sleepy, saw the dark clouds scurrying about in the skies.
And the little birds fluttering away, caught in the threatening wind.
The rains were here.
From here, I could see the dry grass, parched under the heat of the relentless sun of weeks,
Expectant, waiting.
I saw the first, large drops like clear liquid diamonds, hit the ground,
And I could see the trees, the plants, the grass, the leaves, the flowers, the lifeless rocks,
Nature in its entirety, rejoicing in unison.
My heart skipped a beat and I shivered unknowingly,
As much of the cold wind,
As that unspeakable feeling that sprang from my core, enveloping my entire being.
That fragrance again.
I remember. Oh, ever so distinctly.
The land scorched by the sun of March, April, May and June.
Withered crops and waiting farmers in God's own country.
And a little boy who sat in the balcony looking out at the skies,
For the monsoons to come.
That time before Eros had touched this soul,
Seeing not, through the filter of lust.
And then the dark pregnant clouds would gather,
As if to watch a show on the earth.
Not knowing that they themselves were the show,
Watched by this little boy.
And then the rain would fall in a rush,
Filling up paddy fields not far away,
And I would smile a guileless smile,
Reaching out with those little hands, feeling the rain,
Which doused the pain within,
As it dripped, nay, flowed down the tiled roof.
And that smell! That distinct smell.
It's the same. I remember again now,
Enveloped in nostalgia.
That childhood that passed by.
And once again the dry earth, delighted to be quenched of its thirst by the very drops of life,
Gave forth its heat and the fragrance of its rapture;
While the sparrows in the trees chirped away,
Stopping ever so often to listen to the rumbling thunder in the skies.
The rains are back again.
Waking up to the beauty of a thunderstorm,
I savour this enchanted moment of love and emotion,
As that little boy once did, in that forgotten childhood,
So far far away.
And darkness had enveloped the city.
Outside the window, I saw branches bending in the strong gusts of wind.
My eyes, still sleepy, saw the dark clouds scurrying about in the skies.
And the little birds fluttering away, caught in the threatening wind.
The rains were here.
From here, I could see the dry grass, parched under the heat of the relentless sun of weeks,
Expectant, waiting.
I saw the first, large drops like clear liquid diamonds, hit the ground,
And I could see the trees, the plants, the grass, the leaves, the flowers, the lifeless rocks,
Nature in its entirety, rejoicing in unison.
My heart skipped a beat and I shivered unknowingly,
As much of the cold wind,
As that unspeakable feeling that sprang from my core, enveloping my entire being.
That fragrance again.
I remember. Oh, ever so distinctly.
The land scorched by the sun of March, April, May and June.
Withered crops and waiting farmers in God's own country.
And a little boy who sat in the balcony looking out at the skies,
For the monsoons to come.
That time before Eros had touched this soul,
Seeing not, through the filter of lust.
And then the dark pregnant clouds would gather,
As if to watch a show on the earth.
Not knowing that they themselves were the show,
Watched by this little boy.
And then the rain would fall in a rush,
Filling up paddy fields not far away,
And I would smile a guileless smile,
Reaching out with those little hands, feeling the rain,
Which doused the pain within,
As it dripped, nay, flowed down the tiled roof.
And that smell! That distinct smell.
It's the same. I remember again now,
Enveloped in nostalgia.
That childhood that passed by.
And once again the dry earth, delighted to be quenched of its thirst by the very drops of life,
Gave forth its heat and the fragrance of its rapture;
While the sparrows in the trees chirped away,
Stopping ever so often to listen to the rumbling thunder in the skies.
The rains are back again.
Waking up to the beauty of a thunderstorm,
I savour this enchanted moment of love and emotion,
As that little boy once did, in that forgotten childhood,
So far far away.
