Back Again
Anyway, I'm back in business and this time, there will be no turning back.
The rain was drumming on my window sill. A constant music composed of rhythmatic upbeats and down beats. The sound was monotonous, reminding me of a sad story. Silence was pervading and the power or electricity had failed, or rather, the rain made it fail. The only thing you could hear was the lashing of rain. Not a bird chirped, not an animal stirred. The clouds hid the sun. But light was coming from within the clouds. It reminded me of rays of hope coming from the heavens as if to pacify the wretched humans. From the distant hills, a wail came. It was not human, nor animal. It was the air compressed and released in such a manner as if to give a warning to all those who stood in its path. It was coming from a mechanical device. The train. The horn of this mechanical device which was once the backbone of industry whistled down the hills, challenging the down pour of the rain. But as always, it was dissolved. Dissolved in the mighty uproar of rain which decided to play in a higher note. Across my window, I could see two drops of rain sliding on the cables drawn for powering the houses. It was a queer sight. In a world where every human races for power and authority, I was taken aback seeing two drops of water doing the same. As I watched, one overtook the other, but only to fall down a moment later. An instant later, the cable was devoid of any drop of water. Both had fell down. Both had lost the miserable race. Nobody learns these days. Not even the non living.
The rain is a powerful being. Deep inside its heart, unknown to its admirers and adversaries, it hides something. Something mysterious and dark, but at the same time weak and attractive. Then there was a thunderclap. It only reinforced the fact that this rain was going to live way longer. The rain is like a woman. Beautiful, gorgeous and attractive, but hides many things. More than one can see on the surface, more than one can guess. If the rain was the gentle lady’s hair, we watch only the color and grace. It makes us forget that the hair is made of hair strands. The sound of the rain was the smile of the lady. The upbeats of rain reminded of the laughter that emanate from the blessed lady. The sacred feminine entered in every aspect of the human life. Rain was one of them. She was beautiful. Her blue eyes reminded me of the ocean from which she sprang forth. I kissed her. She responded by lightening herself. I walked into her. I wanted to feel the presence and aura of the rain. The way it wet the mossy patches, the dry lands and the dry mind was always a wonder to me. She did it with panache. The rain was always my source of déjà vu.
In the next instant, as unknowingly as she had come, she had gone. Lightening herself and making her barely heard until she was a whisper. And then silence. I found myself freezing. The fan had started to rotate. I looked up at the eastern sky. I found her smiling at me. The beautiful rainbow.