Water adapts to shapes, adapts to colours, to temperature…
it is science, it is fact, it is common sense. This adaptation is common for
everyone, known to everyone, it is out in the open. But what is latent is the
deceit of emotions that it bears. But it keeps everyone’s secret, like the best
friend, honest and forgiving, accommodating.
A broken heart at a window stares at the falling rain and
reminisces lost and distant love, a tear leaves her eyes and mingles with the
thousands of heavenly droplets, or tears of some other eyes, for different
reasons. The rain is the world crying for her.
A thoughtful heart looks out of another window, and looks at
jumbled up words of a poem… the rain is music for him, the drops are words, the
cold is the intensity of his soul, and the sky, his audience. The complete
setting is a concert, the water is the orchestra.
A lonely heart has a companion; a confidante… the rain
imitates a consoling friend. There at the other window, at the far, a buoyant
heart dances with the rhythm, from the happiness of life, in sync and in love
with the falling rain. The rain is a hundred vibrant colours to her, a bundle
of faint scented flowers, a child’s crackling laughter… and the world, a better
place.
The rain adapts to emotions, and mirrors the soul of the
observer, mingles with existence, devoted to the existence of those at the
windows, and itself existing in infinite forms… and in strict confidence, in essential beauty,
in importance of its own presence, in the songs, tears, laughs and
companionship… in silence... it still rains…
