RAIN. RAIN

Rain. Rain. Go Away...

When the weather becomes cloudy like your thoughts, the only clear thing you remember is the white shirt you washed painstakingly hanging dangerously on the clothline. Oh, you remember you have some socks there too—the raging wind accelerates your speed, but sadly it is too late—it started with small sobs like the daughter who just heard about her father's death, then bursted into heavy torrents.


Come Again, Another Day...

You regretted leaving your room late, you regretted washing that morning, atleast you knew a lot of things, you should have known about the rain. You regretted not staying back when you realised how heavy the rain would fall. Your mother words dropped on your ear with each plop of rainfall—“It's Too Late To Cry When The Head Is Off The Neck”


Little Children Want To Play...

Every dark cloud has a silver falling—so each silver drop takes you back to the 90s where the rain was an avenue to exhibit the new pants your mother got you, you remember she had to wash it again because she doesn't like the perfume that comes with second hand clothes. You remember dancing with reckless abandon, forgetting all your sorrows—how much sorrow do you have then? The world was a playground, and you exploited it to the fullest.

Now, instead of brooding about your drenched shirt, you allow holy water wash over you.


— Cranium X