Friday, June 19

For my musings are not literature, not even close.
They are mere reflections, characterless
Of the life that I lived, mediocre.
Compromised lovers and comfortable love stories.
A cheap book made into a cheaper film.

Salvation.

The cloud ministry finally brews magic
There are lovers holding hands watching out
there are broken hearts in it, crying
There are the whipped of heat, relaxing
And there is me, writing about you, me and the rain

Rain Alone.

Do u hear it too ?
Can you feel it ? 
Its soft and misty
It whistles mildly like a distant mountain wind
Like a statement of muted luxury
Its there, pouring and busy.
Two summers passed by, dry.
Its only now that the monsoon makes sense.
But you are not there by my side.
Come home soon.

Looking Out.

Dwellings so high
For me rain is just a fleeting emotion
Silver strands in the air
I’m jealous of the ground
Its receives the rain
The wet sweet pain
The generous gods pierce it
To feel and split and melt away
It would be nice
To not be oneself for a moment

Rain Therapy.

Pour it down hard on the crusty land
Tear it open by the wet slivers
Reveal what has been untouched unfelt
Its only rain that can seep into corners and crevices
Its only rain that can touch
The most dried of eves
The most shallow of minds
And the most closed up hearts
Pour it down
Pour it out
Breathe.