When I’m gone

The cynic loves to peep in,
Shrieking; What if July also comes,
And fails to bring us rains?

I wrote this a few days back; when the clouds turned dark, the thunder struck hard and yet it didn’t rain. We sat there last sunday, by the balcony, talking about the little joys that move us. We spoke about the rains, just the way we have been, every single day, in the last two months.

I will be gone in a few days. To tour the country. Then, when I’m not at home, when I’m not there where it is raining you will send me a message that will read, “It is pouring down here”.

I will pine for the rains. I would wish to be here rather than there; I will long to run up the staircase with you, lie on the terrace and let the rain water drench us to death. Exactly the way we have been planning to, since the last two months.

You will lust the rains when I’m not there, and I wouldn’t like it one bit. You will need my gregarious company to laugh into the pouring water, but I will not be there. You will yen to sip hot filter coffee, but the kitchen will be dead. I will long to listen to your childhood stories, but my walls will remain silent.

On such a day, or such a night, this poetry will give you company.
----

Rain is here,
and all else is still.
My dear young man,
run now to quench your summer thirst.

Rain is here,
and all else is still.
My dear young man,
Discover that hidden chickweed,
the yellow daisies and the rich moist ewers;
the nestling cuckoos and the mad moist mud.

Watch the lucid clouds burst,
the kaleidoscopic paintbrushes on the sky strife,
the raindrops that fall to wrinkle the lake;
and the huge neem trees that bend in humility.
For in them your life lies,
In them your love rests.

Rain is here,
and all else is still.
My dear young man,
Walk slowly by that timid muddy road,
singing along with the sparrow’s joyous twitter;
smelling the fragrant twigs that rustle, long after they die.

Listen to the serenading crickets;
the insomniac lizards and the splutter on rooftops,
breaking the symphony of silent midnights.
For in them your life lies,
In them your love rests.


Rain is here,
and all else is still.
My dear young man,
Forget the yesteryears,
spent in sweltering heat,
Forgive the iron rods of restraint,
when you were your prison.

For now, all else is still,
But for your stirring heart beat,
your nervous shiver, and your rattling tooth.
Let the plectrums lust your guitar strings,
and a new orchestral song be born.
Let all else be still,
But for this new rain kissed life in you.