Mumbai Rains

Framed in the bleary window pane of the taxi,

The swirling, grinding mass of humans, like a dust cloud,

A little speck in the sky, a desperate shout to be heard,

In the vast stillness of the indifferent galaxy,

Hungry for space, to live and express,

Threatening to take off and reclaim the sky;

 

And then the tiny drops stream down,

Like a lusty dance, in the fading disco light of the sun,

Pressing upon the exuberant cloud, condensing it,

Settling it into a glum, morose sand,

Quietened and chastened, damp and dull,

Sullen and biding its time,

Unhappy about the spoilt, delayed dreams,

Unwilling to feast in the joy of the dance;

 

But me, with nothing inside me, no dreams or hopes,

Emptied of all the thoughts that had filled me,

Those tiny drops, they just rushed in,

Laughing at the folly of the window pane,

Gurgling joyously through my entire being,

Filling me in an instant to the brim,

And pouring through my astonished eyes;

 

And her soft fingers, stretching out in a tender goodbye,

Wiping them off my face, those naughty drops,

And with them, the last vestiges from my soul,

Of the collected bitterness of all the years

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I have always been a great believer. I've flitted from one belief to another, from religion to atheism and from one philosophy to another, until I finally settled on J. Krishnamurti whose philosophy is that there is no philosophy. So now I firmly believe that there is nothing to believe. Now such a belief would, I believe, have been considered dangerous to society if the authorities had believed me to be of any consequence. No man of consequence they believe would waste his time on the pursuit of blogging!

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2 comments on “Mumbai Rains
  1. Writingale says:

    Everytime I come to your blog, I somehow end up reading this one. Awesome it is !

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