It is raining now and I look at the windows to the distant trees swaying in the shower. Apart from the sound of the rain, it is silence surrounding me in this night!
It was the same silence when I started observing this shower from the skies! When my grandmother whispered it is the shower from the heaven, my mother wept, they are the teardrops of the clouds. Lying down on the lap of grandmother, I found raindrops dipping from the tiled roof, forming streams disappearing amidst the dense mango trees. I do not know where are those paper boats that I sent through the muddy waters!
It was raining when I held her hands first. I touched those hands chilled in the rain and rubbed against my warmth. Smiling, she kissed my cheeks where the masculine hairs had started sprouting. The palace that we made of sands has been taken away by the wild flow of rain and when I woke up to another morning, I found the courtyard messy with the fallen leaves. Locking the home of silence, I left unto the road to the endless uncertainty!
It was raining throughout the way, but I did not stop! All wet in the rain through the misty road I walked with the baggage of the past. Upon the huts on the way, they served wine, sipping the dryness, intoxicated, I looked once again at the dipping raindrops. There were thunderbolts and lightening on the sky; frightened I hid beneath the blanket of forgetfulness. I dreamt a light entering the tired cells of the brain, but woke up to darkness.
Through the ways of rain, winter and summer the way ended up in the island holding the hollow wood of hope. There was again rain that quenched the thirst of the innocent islanders, and under the shower they sang aloud the songs of joy! I joined them and laughed aloud at the thunderbolts on the sky! upon the coral I carved the name of the lord and washed it with my teardrops and heaped the flowers of my days. I found Him smiling, a smile that filled joy boundless!
My daughter, rain is the tear, sometimes of sorrow, and sometimes of the joy of heaven - the part essential of the cycle of never-ending life. It is raining again, that reminds me of the rains of the bygone and that sings the beauty of the life. I am trying to listen to the melody and the meaning of it- the meaning that would justify the very meaning of life. Hold my hands, listen to the melody for there are rains to come and probably someday I would disappear unto the rain seeking the origin of those drops.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Rain by Preeth Nambiar )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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