The Rains

The rain is always romantic because of the primacy accorded to passions, ideas, and experiences of life and because of our search for pure, untrammeled love and nature and our quest to satisfy the needs of our spirit are replenished by life giving rains. A man can, with effort, have a spiritual rebirth when he realizes that spirit, body and the outside world are not enemies but can live in harmony.
I can visualize the rain making puddles, smell the rain washing away the smoke and grime, and listen to the rain gently but steadily falling on the rooftops, drenching the parched earth and dry concrete. Feel the power of nature, smell the wet earth. Nostalgia comes with the memories of the rain.
Many waves and years have passed since then,
Ashore my friend was drowned in his own shallow but still bitter lies;
and I set off on wanderings.
So long had life together been that once,
The rain began to fall, it seemed unending;
That, lest the raindrops should make her eyelids wince,
I’d shield them with my hand,
And they, pretending not to believe that cherishing of eyes,
Would beat against my palm like butterflies.
Perhaps it is raining on the other side of my heart