By Sunil Sharma
The clouds grey and pregnant With condensed water, Bend down and Kiss the parched earth, In a gossamer embrace: And, At the same time, Sweep past, Caressing your oval face With their light fluffy cotton hands, Leaving your beautiful face wet with the spray of the passing shower Thrilled to the core Of your sacred being, Your long eyes closed, Thin curved lips, pouting a bit, Revealing a white set of gleaming teeth, like the swaying silver birches, Singing a melody not heard so far By any mortal on this earth. The distended large clouds Are Now -- Spread out like an unfurled black giant umbrella, Dripping water divine, On the people huddled in leaky corners on this Mumbai street, And, other creatures of God, Reviving the inner child who loved the racing monsoons, From his tiny barred windows of a Deserted, dim, shabby home Of a tenant farmer, In a green rich meadow Of a now- forgotten ancestral land Left behind; Shrinking -- receding fast-- Like the old river weighed down, Breathless, under the debris Of a city, of late, Indifferent to a dying river God.
Sunil Sharma is the editor of SETU. He is a senior academic, critic, literary editor and author with 21 published books, seven collections of poetry, three of short fiction, one novel, a critical study of the novel, and, eight joint anthologies on prose, poetry and criticism, and, one joint poetry collection.
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One reply on “The Rain-meditation”
Powerfully evocative poem, Sunil. Brimming with apt adjectives and similes.
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