The melody of the ever-anticipated rain has played frantically outside. The thousand of thudding reverberation when droplets of rain shatter as it clash with earthly objects (humans included). The sound of the rain never ceases to make me feel melancholic and sentimental. It is not only soothing, but also induces contemplating. I am here pressing the keyboard key as I stare on the glaring Samsung monitor following whatever letter appears on a blinking dwarfed vertical line; it’s like this little line opens another dimension and as every droplet of rain knocks on my bucolic door and thinly painted roof, welcomes a thought sneakily crawling sporadically in my mind. I love the rain! How can I ever emphasize on that statement? There’s nothing in and of it that I can explain and pinpoint as the consummate source of my love for it; in the first place, you do not need any reason to love, you just do. Same goes for my admiration and infatuation towards the calming rain.

My heart melts every time the ground exudes an aroma of joy and relief; a result when the dust-blanketed ground glorifies when the thousand little raindrops splatters. I too glorify when the rain touches my normally warm skin. It’s a joy I cannot explain; an inexplicable euphoria. Though there are not many who are ardent admirers of the rain, it is not reason enough for me to severe my untraceable love towards it.

The rain has stopped, I hope just this instance. A downpour of rain when you try to sleep is one of the most wonderful experience one could ever encounter. It lulls you to sleep smoothly, and consequently it makes each waking day vibrant. Do come back and touch the humble earth again, invisible rain! You, whose gentle touch makes one look above, shower the precariously parched imagination of the idealists.

Being desultory once again, let me jump off from another stupefying view this morning. While I was going out, throat-parched and lethargic, with one thing in my mind, to sate my thirst, I was dazzled by a shimmering halo. It was the likes of which I never saw in forever. I stopped awhile to let my eyes get accustomed to the radiance, and unswervingly notice the source of such shimmer; the inanimate drinking fountain on the second floor of the AS building. You were there for as long as we were, and you hid yourself in a bland façade. We used to just step on you so you may mechanically and automatically deliver quenching cold water; I felt guilty for not being able to notice the significant role you play in the lackadaisical lives of coerced students. We clamber the inclined steps towards half-a-heaven and half-a-hell, vigorously sweltering in early morning sweat, whilst intermittently wiping off excess (those dripping sweat tickling your still torpid skin). You whose lips have been kissed by countless and heart is broken by a romance that never be. You whose hips are evanescently held by strangers and guides you to a dance you do not know the steps; and as you gradually enjoy, those strangers let go of their gentle grasp on your hips, and you are then left desultory once again. You who dance with a single step; you reward those who keeps you company with a quenching water magically coming out from your silver lips. You, who that morning shun your true extravagance (maybe thinking no one will be looking at you). I saw your grandiose halo; a shimmering, pusillanimous crown existent only as when you are struck by the reflection of the sun’s ray. You stood there in solitude, where nobody kissed you on your coldly sweating lips, and nobody stepped on your flatly placed foot, and nobody held your smooth obdurate hips; your satiety cascaded, externally perceivable as your halo. You find contentment in solitude. But I asked, ‘Should that be?’ No one fit survives the bitterness of aloneness. I approached you in a wildly stalking manner; hands closely flat on my side, walking in a sliding manner (producing a rushing sound), staring steadfastly at you. But as I got nearer and nearer, your halo slowly disappeared, lost as my presence may have startled your contemplation. I drank from your lips a sating essentiality of life, grab your quasi-smooth hips, and stepped on your bruised pedal then I moved away. Upon entering the door of doldrum-generating incarceration, I looked back; I saw again your halo, a silver glow rendered by the omnipresent and omnipotent radiance of the sun.

Sometimes, at some little point in our lives, we desire solitude. We would bargain even frolic events for a piece of prized silence. It is only when we are alone sometimes that we get to excogitate every minute thing in our lives. We sometimes avoid the perturbing crowd and find ourselves a little corner for ourselves. Have you been alone lately?

The rain has not yet descended; though the sky is heavy and the fulminating echoes of silence reverberate the outcry of inevitable emancipation. I’ll again be waiting for the next arrival of my long-time infatuation. The rain, who when falls, makes mushy marshmallows of adamant pebbles; who lubricates my static imagination and coaxes emotionally imbued ideation; who when shattered emanates an earthy aroma that reminds me of where I am standing and where I should be standing; who when invisibly grazes my febrile skin, transiently sketches a beautiful love story. The rain relays the message of the sky to every irrelevant corporeal being below; ‘you are all standing on the same ground, no one is above or below another’. Under the encompassing splurge of the rain, we are reminded of our being insignificant. That we are all temporary; even the most beautiful love story of all, gets devoured by dust and dirt. We are all transient beings! It will incessantly rain, even though we cease to breathe. We are all but a passing of time; no one will ever be in a day beyond forever, whilst the rain transcends forever.

No exemption to the temporariness and passing of things is our untold story. Few know, and uncertain is the outcome. But amidst the covertness of whatever it is that we have, I am as satisfied as when I am alone; perhaps more. I yearn for every moment with you as when I yearn for every droplet of rain. I childishly crave the pitch of your voice; the batter of your eyelashes, the motion of your lips when you converse with me, and your ambivalence towards want and propriety. I wish for the two of you to meet; a walk under the rain. But as of this fleeting moment in time, the rain is still in paucity, and our time together is but borrowed, that wish remains a yet attainable and capricious wish. But I’m looking forward that our hidden and borrowed moments together becomes like the rain; carelessly pouring wherever, whenever. You who the rain reminds me of, is a wish I continually cling until you, or the thought of you reminds me of the rain. Pour ceaselessly! =]