Tired
from the scorching heat of the sun,
Returning
home, with a hope ,for the rain to come.
I
walk down the streets of the busy, fast moving city,
Weary
and teary I drag myself home.
I
could see my skin covered with droplets of fresh sweat,
My
throat wanting to quench the thirst,
My
palms wanting to feel the moist touch,
Oh
how I wish it could rain!
Suddenly,
I hear it call,
From
behind the canopy of dark clouds.
My
heart filled with joy,
Waiting
for the first spell of rain ,to touch my senses.
The
fresh wind blew,
Blew
,with a promise of refreshing surprises.
I
waited,
It
came ;
The
first spell of rain.
It
fell on the dusty busy road,
Spreading
the aroma ,which refreshed my mind and soul.
Down
the streets I see,
The
gurgling water sweeping the dirt towards the gutter,
The
kids aloof from the fact,
Are seen jumping into the puddles with the
sound of pitter and patter.
For
a second or two,
I
was taken back to my childhood days,
Where
I would sail my paper boats and form a gaze.
Suddenly
my flashbacks experienced a halt,
I
reached home.
My
garden called for me.
The
lush green blades of grass,
Painted
my tired feet.
My
dry throat expressed its desire for thirst,
My
tongue tasted the sweetness of the fresh rain water.
It
led me to dance,
Dance,
with the abundance and beauty of nature.
Deep
within my soul, I accepted,
The
divine feeling of contentment,
And
the joy of celebrating Barixaa.
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