68. ||RAIN||

Whenever the sky grows dark

And the clouds in the sky rumble happily

Telling the world that

They will pour

A faint tune of Tagore's music

Starts playing in my mind.

The soft tunes

Of the voluminous album

"Bhanushingher Padavali"

Clog my mind.

Have you heard the melodies, Krishna?

You must.

They're magic.

A collection of songs

Only for you and me

In the long forgotten

Forsworn dialect

Of Braja.

The Brajaboli.

It speaks of my anguish

It speaks of my elation

It speaks of our love,

Krishna.

And then there are jovial

Big, chirpy peacocks

That dance to those tunes

In supreme bliss.

I associate rains with music

I associate rains with peacocks.

Maybe Rain

Is just you, Krishna.

Falling from the skies

On my skin.