Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Word of rain . . .

The chattering wind was still around then.

It carried no song of love,
but our discourse was full of
lovable words.

We talked about
all beautiful things
in our sphere.

About the sun that hides behind any white cloud,
about the bullock cart
that starts in the morning
to drag time to reach till the night,
about the boy who drew the vast sea
and a small boat that carried us to
the other shore,
and so on.

When we started drinking
silence from our tea-cups,
the sky turned dark with
burdened clouds. 

I tried to disown any sense of belonging,
and was just staring at you
as a child sitting amused
on mother's lap.

It was then you said
'Let it rain' . . .
and it rained.


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