What a beautiful day it is to dream,
To sit by the widow and watch the rain pour,
Colder and heavier, breathing in
The air dense with petrichor.
The sky descends into mortal realm
And the clouds just pass us by,
With deafening claps of thunder
And cracks snaking up the sky.
A cold darkness creeping in,
The sun has disappeared into nowhere,
The mad word coming to a stand-still,
Thunder loud enough to raise hair.
A warm blanket and a silent room,
Hand held out to feel the misty rain,
Raindrops on leaves like delicate dew,
Dull, dark greys upon bright greens.
Oh, how the world slows down,
Perhaps it could use the peace,
For even the mightiest rivers slow
Into bubbling brooks and creeks.
And when the skies clear out again,
The world will go back to its pace,
Until the next bout of rain,
Another time, another place.
~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.
I might have lost the inspiration for this poem the minute it stopped raining. It’s funny how that works. Had it rained longer, I would have written a lot more in its praise because I truly do love the rain. But, oh well, I guess I’ll have to let that bit of inspiration come to me all by itself. This may or may not be incomplete. I don’t know if there’ll be a part 2 anytime soon, but we’ll see.