Rain Rush

7th September, '09

The whoosh of the rain,
slowing down,
to a pitter-patter;
A tap-dancer on an asbestos roof;

Rustling old notebook sheets,
torn, folded,
engineered into hasty creations;

Rubber chappals on wet, washed earth,
the crunchiness of wet mud,
laughter bubbling at the seams of my soul;

Sucking in the smell of freshly-soaked mud;
The skies have just unburdened themselves.
The whiff of their countless secrets.

Excitement floating through the air,
mingled with the rain and laughter;
Three fine visitors on a boring afternoon;

Sunlight streaming through peepholes in the rain,
specks of gold and grey and nothingness;

Boats bobbing on rain-water rivulets,
drawing imaginary boundaries of joy,
floating images of serenity on water.