three poems on rain from three different times

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1. The rain of intimacy

The clouds waited
till the last leaf
with its last wish
had floated home safe.

Dry earth cracked under heat
and begged for mercy.
The sky was all in tears
and it poured and poured.

To come out of your hiding
you were waiting
for an invitation. Now it has come
with the first rain like a reprieve.

Tip tip tap tap tip tip tap tap
it keeps on knocking come out, come out.
To celebrate our intimacy
the white ants have taken to wings.

Snakes and red insects
are no more in their hidings.
Even the tiny grass has come out
with all its kith and kin.

After a brief respite once again
the rain is calling
come out, come out.
What are you waiting for?


2. Traffic jam, Rumi and rain


While the Bengaluru traffic jam
gets worse
with each falling rain drop,
home bound multitudes
get weary and fretful.

But to me the rain outside
has provided the perfect gestalt
and background music
as I rummage through pages of Rumi.
 
“Cloud of gentle rain, pour down
come, let us friends get truly drunk
and you, the king of tricksters
befuddled with drink we all greet you".

The great mystic!
Even in an impatient evening like this
the clouds bring messages of hope
and the key I lost has been found.



3. Of rain and other times

It is raining.
At other times I would have thought of Rumi.
I would have remembered his lines.
But now I have to push away Rumi
and bother -
is rain good or bad for Corona?
 
It is raining.
At other times I would have fondly remembered
how my whole village smelled
when rain drops hit the dry soil,
how each inch of earth thrived with life.
But now all I am reminded of
is the smell of incense sticks
and burning woods
on the Ghats of Varanasi.

 It is raining .
At other times I would have felt so proud
of the mastery of the human race,
when Elon Musk sounds so confident
to take us beyond the moon
in case the earth had no more rain.
But now I see the helplessness
of a thousand Elon Musks
to contain a virus.