Rain, O' Rain Poem by Susanta Pattnayak

When the sky turns grey,
grey to black,
like the peacock's feather—
that shimmer, that shadow—
with a thick black centre,
like an ancient eye watching,
I know it is near.

It gently falls over the leaves,
till its intensity increases,
like the beats
of a military drum.

The earth smells ecstatic—
raw, alive, forgiven.

There's a shimmer on the edges—
not sunlight,
but the dance of silvery clouds
tiptoeing on the wind.

And I—
I always feel something stir inside me,
not quite joy,
not quite longing,
just a pull.

I always have the urge
to step into that moment,
barefoot,
soul naked,
and open my arms
to the sky
as if greeting a lover
who left long ago
but never stopped writing letters.

Rain, O' Rain—
you are not just water,
you are memory
and lullaby,
you are the ache in my chest
when no words come,
only tears.

I wait,
I welcome,
I remember.

And when you fall,
I fall too—
into that soft,
silent,
sacred
space
we've always shared.

Susanta Pattnayak