The plight of the rain...

The world is deteriorating with every passing day. Newspapers have become journals of crime. We humans are so preoccupied with killing each other that we do not pay heed to anything else. As a matter of fact, we are the only species on the planet that KILLS its own kind for amusement! Let me remind you here that the word ‘HUMAN’ also means ‘KIND’ and ‘GENTLE’. Heights of irony I’d say! With a picture of the result of this attitude, I have written a free verse on the buffet of reactions of people, to the rain. Enjoy reading...

I looked out the fenetra, the rain drops crackled;

The fragrance of the moist earth swirled.

Children savored, soaked with mud;

As they kicked the ball with the stud.

The parents gossiped, about last night’s fiesta;

In the balconies, having a siesta.

The aged admired their grandchildren play;

A smile brimming for a rendez – vous with childhood again;

Having lived their lives, a beautiful life;

Now watching their grandchildren play.

The truthful little souls, meditating on the game;

Unaware of the rocky life ahead.

The raindrops shimmered in the fainting rays;

The vibgyor in the sky;

Standing united like rays of the holy Ra.

The moist earth sailed in the nostrils;

Of the delivery boy, with the steaming pizzas.

A gush of heat in the cool eve struck their face;

A stench of fuel, as the car docked in;

Drops shattering on the bonnet like hailstones;

Fierce and mighty.

But on the occupied children’s faces;

The very same drops, refreshing drops of heaven.

And they all rejoiced as the rain poured;

From the Heavens to Mother Earth;

“I bow and beseech to every single one”, it says; “Then why?

‘Why do you interpret me differently?”

“Why does the pauper curse me shivering in the open skies?”

“Why do the bourgeoisie detest me under their umbrellas?”

“Why do the aristocrats ignore me under their mighty cemented roofs?”

“Who else loves me, but the farmer and the child?”

Ayush Goyal