Rain: the
sublime heaven, intellectual phenomena. Yes, it echoed right. That shimmery
stop that slides down my skin when i first embalm it, that feeling which is unexpressed.
It sings a lullaby sometimes, and drives the cherubian some other time, weaves
a new human bond and gives no blatant replies to inherently mysterious questions.
The intricacies of rain are often unnoticed; humans don't thrive to wonder what they soak themselves in, the undeniable pleasure and the mesmerizing after effect. It is this effect that makes me express in the aforesaid way, because I think, I stare and I blink at it. It seems to invite me.
I like to watch the
raindrops falling on the ground for hours. I can imagine a picture of a
simmering coffee cup kept in a luscious garden or in a road facing porch with
two chairs, table and a good person. A person. And I'm in no mood to compare it with anything filled more with ecstasy. I vouch to describe
this sight as heavenly and certainly cannot explain how undeniable a feeling it
is.
Rain, has its story and gives me, you and the one you're sitting with or thinking about, stories about it. Rain is my family. I fondly remember the road stroll on my bike under the sky shower or the caricature drawing on the fogged window glass of my car when it rains unannounced while I go out for lunch. It's a sustainable process for me. Imagining a world where it won't rain? I won't imagine. And I won't snatch that coffee cup off the table and not stop drawing more faces on car windows either.
Rain is in itself a complete and complacent phenomenon; associate it with tears, with joy, with memories, with cupid thrills, with unimaginable wonderings, with a jigsaw that never seems to be solved, with a question that it asks you and with every other thing that happens. Just let it.
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| Picture Courtesy: www.murraymitchell.com |
Next time it
rains, just remember what I wrote, put up a philosophical bent once and see what you make of it. Your
writing hand might just glide on the paper.
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