The Freedom of Rain

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The droplets tip-tapping on my skin, worming their way through my clothes

Take me back to my childhood, to days where we would walk and run

Quickly drenched in a cloud burst or slowly in the soft drizzle after a storm

We would see the lightning and wait, still, for the loud boom of thunder

And jump when it did come, for it was always louder than we expected

And then we would laugh at the one who jumped the highest

We would scan the skies trying to predict the next blazing blinding bolt

After a while, tiring of the game, we would splash in puddles, unconcerned

Until our mothers shouted for us and then we would hurry home, laughing

Where, dry once more, we would feast on hot milk and bajjis and murukus

And we would sit, looking out at the pouring rain, waiting to run back out.

Drowning in nostalgia, I step gingerly, once more, in a puddle, a small one

I feel the silky smoothness of cold water, lapping my feet, like tiny waves

I feel the goosebumps travelling up, ending in my face as a large silly grin

Momentarily, I am transported, to a world where nothing exists but the rain

Where the soothing, murmuring rain, the smell of wet earth, reign supreme

Where the pleasure of soft water on my skin washes away everything

So, I stand, momentarily free, of burning anxiety and daily ennui

Existing, only for the pleasure to be, to feel, to laugh, uncaring, alive

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