Rain mesmerizes. Rain cleanses. Rain intoxicates. An ode to the beautiful rains, whether it be on a farm or in a forest, on a mountain or, in Mumbai ?
Read the original musing at: http://snookerofamind.blogspot.in/2008/10/how-long-can-short-be-or-should-it.html
The light shone on in parity,
The drums went on a spree,
The drop atop, ‘Where should I drop?
Where would I like to be?’
One trickled in a farmland crack,
Burrowed and hollered through,
Worms, lost seeds, decaying stuff,
No earth to seep into.
One rushed into, the river blue
its icy depths aquiver,
At threshold poised, the air rejoiced,
When life bevied the giver.
One drop, unfortunate, it dropped
on a poor arithmetic journal,
The ‘8’ went ‘3’, the drop broke free,
Messed up a cursed internal.
One landed dang! on top of skin,
It was a little hand,
Bereft, it mused, ‘This is my end’,
In seconds, I’ll bite the sand!
The hurl it knew would come in time
somehow did never come,
What came instead, were fellow drops,
Unknowns and long-lost chums.
They hugged and tugged in wonderment
as the hand cupped ’em together,
And gently laid them on a leaf
Withered to vein and tether.
The vein bloomed to a pulsing lane,
The whites gave way to greens,
Two eyes watched on, the (re)union
Of parched smithereens.
Behold the fall! No time at all!
From pain and dying gory,
Stood life with dancing droplet crowns,
In all its shining glory!
For though it seems (or does not seem)
awful poetry (or prose),
Rain does do magic, spell-binding!
When a bud becomes a rose.