I hear the leaves rustle in the breeze The gust picks up slowly, gradually I hear the rattle of a window The one that lies loosely in its frame Like a watchful sentry Announcing the entry Of a wayward breeze That rolls in through its screen To knock upon the door At the end of the corridor
I walk out of my bedroom into the lounge The sentinel window Is now trembling, recoiling Rattling its pane Warning of rain That will soon moisten Its face; gushing, Rushing, tearing The dust off old memories - Renewing the pain
I see the first flash of lightning and then The thunder breaks The storm has arrived I look at it through the window Now lying quietly in its frame Soon the glisten of its pane Swells into a stream flowing Down silently, as I sit quietly With the sweet ache Of old memories again
I sit here, encircled in my routine, My safety net spread around me like a bright yellow blanket. The sameness, the everydayness keeping it close, gently embracing. I’ve gulped down the first half of my mug of coffee So now I’m surrounded also, by a warm cloak of caffeine. I stretch inwardly with the languidness of a just-fed, just-loved cat.
I look outside at the recently blue sky Where the clouds have now gathered in heavy eskers of grey The suddenness of the assailment, the eclipsing of the sun, Breaking the spell of my Constancy Ritual. I sip on the second half of my mug of coffee, rhythmically bolstering my caffeine haze Even as the sudden coolness of the breeze loosens my other subliminal layers of warmth.
Then the rain begins to fall. Free, fluid, gleaming, Skipping down the sidewalk; dancing in eddying pools on the street below. And i stand up and stretch with the lustiness of the Alive and the Kicking. I reach out and catch the falling raindrops in the trough of my open palm; I reach out and seize the day.
Mahvash Mohtadullah - The Roaming Desi 