The Funeral Portrait

Tamilnadu, a southern state in India is flooded. Pune, a city in western Maharashtra is experiencing an unseasonal yet torrential rainfall. The whole experience reeks of ominous foreboding. I am reminded of my previous post, Ruin. I am appalled at how music has covered it all.

This rain isn’t light and breezy, it is neither chilly and tragic, it most definitely signifies rage, terror. This song just came to my mind while I looked out of the window. The Funeral Portrait.

Rain washing clean all the sins
A liquid gown that covers all

It is 1600 Hrs. on the clock. I open the window, the usual sunny sky is nowhere to be seen. The charm has subdued. The colours have smudged into gray. The sky knows no limits. It has descended into the earth. The treelines are blurry. The windshields have a layer of partially flowing sticky mud. The bustling street is deserted. The petrichor is nowhere to be felt. The putrid stench of foreboding fills the air. It makes the already damp atmosphere strangely sick. I look up at the sky. The rain is strangely monotonous. There is no variation. It is stuck in the timeless loop of brooding nonchalance. It is entrapment. Feels like Hell’s marination. The monotonous sound of the rain is like a hammer on the countless nails on the ground. The scene incubates diseases. With casual disregard, time waits to attack us all. We are all same to it. No distinctions. It is set out to wipe the board clean. It wants to reset it all. Start all over again.

And you are just like them all
Stained by the names of fathers
I’m greeting my downward fall
Leaving the throes to others