Of Rains And Feelings

When it rains now, the fat dollops of cold molecules,

tipper tappers on my skin, why do I run for a shelter?

fear of getting wet connected to catching cold and fever,

perhaps.

Whilst years back that anticipation and the eager wait,

eyes looking at the grey clouds to pop open like a jug,

the smell of petrichor,

and the ecstatic heart would run to the roof of the house,

the skin and the soul in unison as they got drenched in rain,

the dry umbrella cried in the corner.

As droplets of rain wave at me through the glass windows,

why does the heart wish again to leave everything behind,

and jump again in joy in the puddles of the street?

why?

As the mind dreams of traveling to places, new and unknown,

why does that little corner of the heart still remember the little waves,

created as the paper boats, built with grandfather,

slowly flowed on and on, in the water-logged street?

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