The Morning After...

Rainy Mornings

It should rain every night, And eyes feast on green and brown. They call the perfume petrichor. It must not be bottled up and poured, at will. I could not afford to buy if it was, Available in a fancy shop. It smells of womb, My mother's love. It covers me in lightness. My heart and soul, Languishing in the daily rot, Of existence, In mythical cities and towns, Open their third eye, To Tandava of love. Let me indulge, in lucid dreams. Of villages and mango trees. Of empty, faraway groves, That exist only in my head. The music of the rain, Tupur, tapur as the baby says, Makes me want to unfurl my wings. The notes perfect, The sound same, From the time I remember, Sleeping under a sheet of tin. I wish it rained every night. And, I don't have to, Water my plants, Or wash the car clean. ~ Shoma

Love. Rain. Happiness

I love rains.

I have said this time and again.

I cannot stop myself from writing during Monsoon. You could call it Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).

Lots of people do not get this fetish of mine.

I don't either. :)

But, it is the clean and freshly-washed beauty of the Monsoon that tugs at my heartstrings every time.

Rains to most people means muck and traffic snarl-ups.

To me, rains symbolize love.

The love of the sky for Earth.

His poor, overburdened, dying-under-the-weight-of-humanity lover.

I feel the love of the skies trying to pull up the flagging morale of the Earth.

I feel the balm of love and not the sting of acid when the sky pours.

In the flashes of lightening and noise of thunder, I hear the anger of a lover who is threatening the hell out of the puny humans abusing his love.

I feel the happiness of the watery Earth.

70 parts water and only 30 parts land.

She loves water.

She revels in the rains.

I feel the relief of the trees in my city.

Washed, cleaned and cheerful.

They look happy.

I can see the sheen of their leaves.

I can feel see the green of their life.

It makes my heart soar like a bird.

The little birds, all wet and fluffy, sitting under thick leaves and tin awnings, look in awe.

They understand the love of the skies.

They are probably the only ones to hear the whispers of endearments that the sky bestows on the Earth.

They are the ones that fly fearlessly up to the sky and play there.

Enough said. I love rains. They clean my soul and make me happy.

Copyright: All images used here were clicked by me