When the blinding sunlight darkens, and the sky
covered with thick black clouds suggests rain, I take my
flute out and stand under the Banyan tree, and call her; my
home-made reed lets the notes float through the wind
and urge her to come and play with me. Just like we did
when we were kids.
I hear the thunder, and my heart wants to open up and embrace
that sound. We thought that god was rolling large balls on the floor of his
sky! I see the farmer and his wife, stop and look at the sky with smiles,
waiting for those large drops of rain, hands arrested on their ploughs.
My own heart longs to hear the music of bells in her ankles
running towards me, with, “ Raaaju, it is going to rain!” The memory of
lilt in her voice calling my name, feels like a boulder in my chest.
Rain clouds, they mesmerize me. They fill me up. My eyes closed,
my arms open, my face open to the heavens, keeps whispering,
“Your Raju is here. I am playing your tune on this reed you gave me,
come play with me. Let’s dance to the rhythm of the falling rain, and
let’s forget Time’s betrayal, and remember only the devotion of love.
ZSA_MD (c) April 19 2016.