Kissed by Rain — Poems
In this poetry showcase, we celebrate the kiss of rain: breathing life into parched landscapes and revitalizing everything it gently encounters
A Soft Kiss on a Broken Glass by Muhammad Kamran Fiaz
In cities, Rain is a lover's whisper In a village, It's a soft kiss on a broken glass Buffalo, cow, and a goat that ami brought along in her dowry Are waiting for the grass Aba is worried, With tomorrow, That is always today, Animals will be in the mud, And the grass, Too wet to cut and feed. Baji ran, From teaching math, To the younger brother, To secure the cage of parrot. Ami told us Baji studied, Until fifth grade, But she was always good, with remembering the dates, of funerals, weddings, And the last day, Of paying bills, And fees. Dadi With her almost closed, Eyes lined with kohl, Sees the crows, Circling and kraaing, "Only a wedding in the rain." Ami is looking, At the Bougainville vine, In the courtyard, "Hummingbirds have made their nest over it" Ami has told everyone, like a secret. She planted it, In her early days of marriage, When she used to watch PTV dramas, And they all had Bougainville. Growth of these plants In the courtyard Gives her the only Sense of belonging And ownership In her home That is of Aba. Like everything else And us Known and called by the name of aba.
Rain is like a thousand dreams by Susmita Ghosh
It is said, that nature is embedded in your soul and on some days it caresses your existence, while in the others it consumes your leftovers. I was thirteen when my grandmother first read me a verse from "Meghdutam", that spoke about how the clouds in our Indian monsoon, carried messages from two estranged lovers. I was fascinated to know how the sky, who was my best friend as the loneliest child have secretly nurtured messengers in its bosom, while the rains, which were like my emotions, who were kept unexpressed for a long time had decided to bless barren lands and bare bodies, with the hope of life one day. Rain has always been my mother's enemy. She cursed monsoons every year, as the feeble architecture of our house, sheltered raindrops within the cracks of its skin with leaking ceilings and clogged drains in the attic, drowned her desires, wishes, and dreams and my father stayed silent, quite like his promises in their relationship while I hummed a verse from Miya ki Malhar "bijuri chamke jiyara tarse" (My heart longed for the thunder to strike.) when, actually, my little heart only wanted to strike peace. I grew tired of clogged attics and messengers but the rain kept on embracing my existence. It dripped through my uncombed hair, as I attended my first pride march and my flag soaked against my backbone and my chest, making it difficult to differentiate between a human skin and a cloth made with revolution, while rainbows were born beneath the sky that day. Rain touched my eyelids as I cried, while returning home from a hard day at work and it held my face, just like my alter ego does to tell me "the thunders are temporary, flowers are permanent and you can harness both" My girlfriend tells me, কলকাতার বৃষ্টি সবচেয়ে সুন্দর (The rains in Kolkata are the prettiest) and I agree with how they describe rain's ability to transform a person's heart. Yet at times, rain does have a heart of stone, to intrude through economic disparities and create potholes, while flooding roofless lives and sometimes it does save a sprout in a country where crops are compared to gold. For me, rain is like a thousand dreams falling from the sky to touch their dreamers and we, the children of a beautiful poem wait for the rainbows to bloom in our lives.
I was not named after a Peacock by Khatija Khan
Abandonment is the fluid running in the veins of my city. In its palms, it holds her men and women whose minds blossom into uncountable rain harvesting methods- tumblers on the terrace, sprinklers in the fields, earthen pots and whatnots to celebrate the downpour. Maa always collects a lot of water but then abandons it, unknowingly. Like every other child of the rain, I too, was not named after a peacock. There was music everywhere, yet I could not dance enough. I was left to sprout like soft moss. Pa forgot to pick me after my first day of school so I searched for a shelter with a tiny snail. It took me longer than the longest forever. Every exhibition comes to a halt in my city when the sky arrives wearing its petrichor skirt and rainbow sandals. The earth swallows the aftermath of the raindrops in no time as the people living in small homes curse the rain for snatching the sense of belongingness from them. The birds forget the windowsills they took refuge upon as the sky roared. Maa forgot me along with the day I was born. Yesterday I turned twenty. My family will never know. Like every other child of the rain, I folded colorful papers into origami paper boats and left them to explore the narrow streets full of small businesses panicking about water pelting down and seeping through their tents. I chewed chalky jamuns and looked at how they painted my tongue purple. As the rain broke into rivers of chaos, I broke into ponds of tears in my room. The government alerts the public about probabilities of flood almost every year. Deaths never decrease because the language of rain on dissolving cities is unknown to man. Whoever tries to interpret its path, loses himself. Whoever tries to run away, becomes one with it. Rain and its children contradict each other. Like every other child of the rain, I wore my raincoat and tried to save my body even though it was a liability disguised as an asset. Like every other child of the rain, I couldn't master the art of pouring my feelings everywhere. All I did was evaporate and evaporate and evaporate until one day, I became a grey cloud. Some day, I will fall over my city and soak it in a fresh Ghazal. Only when abandonment abandons it, I will evaporate again.
Movements in the wild by Shobha Tharoor Srinivasan
Lolloping zebras in the savanna, A leopard’s curvet from the trees. Monkeys swing with their bananas, Hippos huddle where they please. A giraffe’s long-limbed graceful amble A large pachyderm’s swaying gait The wildebeest’s swift-footed gamble As loping lions roam and wait. Hyenas saunter to their carrion Tall emus stride and stroll Vultures descend with their clarion Rhinos toe-walk to their goal. But then the sudden cloudburst- The afternoon downpour- Grasses glisten as rain fills its thirst, The Serengeti begs for more. But animals run for shelter Gazelles hasten their annual move The BIG FIVE is helter skelter Hurtling on hind and hoove! Their movements mark a purpose. Their travel a wet-season range. Flowing water never a surplus. But the foraging has a change. The rains touch and transform everything. It can flood and it can nourish. Rains grow the earth but deluge bring. Objects destroyed yet systems flourish.
Dharwad Rain by Ajay Koyimuttal
It was too much heat and It became cloudy. Suddenly there was lightning, Thunderstorms and rain. It rained over and across The roads of Jubilee circle On the metal head of The Ambedkar statue. The tin roofs of the Chigri bus, Got the hammering from The silver nails too. Sending rhythmic tones To whoever sat within it. It rained on the dusty old scooter Unveiling its name to the world "Bajaj Chetak"- like it was a fossil. The kids in the white shirt and Blue shorts ran around to collect The ice cubes of the hail. It rained on their tiny heads. Over the tripling college boys On their Splendor Plus and Over the empty Kingfisher bottles To mock the chill out of the beer. It rained on hospital signboards That said 'do not honk.' It rained over a punctured tyre That just wanted to burn in fire. Over the pigeons and the crows And the maize feed that they Wanted to eat- that's how Their hot meal turned cold. It wanted to rain on Elliot's Wastelands too and Silvia's Fig tree before it could even Branch out more. Even on Bukowski's whores And wine and on that Frost's road not taken and its Fresh grass; till one could- No longer tell the difference From the other one. But it strictly wanted to be local, For some reason. So it let Karim Mulla's grave Drench and Chakkadi Balya's Thirst quench. By the smell of *Mirchi Girmit It let the crowd elate. And one of those tractors To pass playing a *Janapad song On full blast- It let itself Loosen up a bit to have- A little fun for a while and Dance in *Tappanguchi style.
I love movies with Rain as a character by Anamika Nath
Rain has always been a character. How it transforms the scene and the Narrative! A Kathak dancer starts the bol of Teentaal: lifts her anarkali skirt and merges with the rain. It dances on rooftops, splashes through city streets, gently taps on the windows, as the mom pulls out the scented letters of yesteryears and the incense fumes hug her grey hairs, while the window chimes feel the slithering by winds, the secrets flood with the downpour. The Rain tells stories of longing and bewilderment; the kiss of star-crossed lovers, the cleansing of past wounds, or the outstretching arms, the newfound freedom, washing away the old and ushering in the new. Rain speaks of melancholy and introspection, like the hauntingly beautiful scenes where the rain amplifies the unspoken tension and forbidden desire between the characters. Or the poignant moments where rain-drenched streets witness the silent, heart-wrenching bond between a father and son caught in a world of crime and redemption. It’s in the reflective pools where they see their true selves, in the relentless downpour that hides tears, and in the gentle drizzle that brings solace. Rain marks transitions, from sorrow to joy, from despair to hope, and from isolation to connection. the journey to be one with the rain, with each droplet, with every catch and miss.
Glossary:
*Mirchi Girmit- local food prepared from puffed rice
*Janapad song- Songs in local slang often played in tractors
*Tappanguchi- local free style dance