after the rains

I accept whatever you say.

More like a surrender;

May be not.

The meanings are already inside.

I shall not nod.

...It is like looking through clear water.

I see tiny tadpoles moving with such grace and peace.

I am looking at the face reflected on the water

which is looking at me which i am looking at.

Between them wind, dust, tadpoles, clouds, space....

A drop of rain... We are dancing in ripples.

More drops, the more we dance.

The tadpoles scurry away to some safety.

I do not see them anymore.

The reflections are now multi-layered, multi-textured.

I turn to the rain...

the songs of rain are already inside me.

It just brought some wine so that i can sing them aloud.

There is no one around.

I am addicted to growing my thoughts.

I run behind them to see where they go.

It may seem that this movement

moves away from logic; but it does not.

I am pulling things towards our logic.

The weight of a water droplet

On a tiny flower

Is the weight of love on our hearts.

Sometimes it weighs down but won't kill.

Sometimes it runs down

And splashes into a hundred tiny droplets

A hundred tiny droplets falling

Into appropriate spaces

Into inappropriate spaces

Some droplets sway; some dangle.

Some hold onto the stalk

Till the rays devour them.

The flower bounces back. 

Spirited. Happy , cleansed,

Wet and fresh.

I come back to the puddle.

The tadpoles are out.

The water is clear again.