it still rains like this...

http://threeriversdeep.wordpress.com/tag/rain/

water

i thought
water
this morning

first
the kind
i drink
out of my mug
-warm

then
the kind
that washes away
-warmth and all

(in the shower
parts that were violated)

(at the kitchen sink
concealed wounds)

[in the rain
reincarnation]

Before the rains

Looks like the rain has stopped for this year without finding me. It didn't realize how I had started out with the dream to drench before it began.

I'm standing here. Dry.

i lift

my face again
toward the sky
just as it begins to land on my face

you have been
hot stinging drops
sometimes

sometimes
a spray of needles
landing
where you grazed it open

i lift my face
again
today

fall like silence

let me unbelong, too

It still rains

on a rain-spilled morning like this,
you came back
to say monsoon was almost over.


coffees and teas
were done

the sidewalks
had been exhausted
with conversations

and i had forgotten
to flip the calendar.


on a rain-spilled morning like this,
i dreamt you'd come back
and could not stay.

Rain stories

The raindrops sound rather large and swift. They fall on the corrugated tin roof of the guard house in my neighbour's compound. They beat down on the leaves, on the bamboo shoots that grow outside my room. They take me so many places.

Each sound is new and old at the same time. Each smell it kicks-up from what it falls on, is old and new. Rain is relief- connecting my now to then.

I always fall short of words when it rains, as though nothing I say would describe it aptly. The only things I can do about it are, listen, touch and gaze.

When it rains, it's always you Im thinking of.

April rain

It has just started to rain. I can always stay cooped up in my room and try to count the so many different sounds it makes as it keeps falling on different things. Like an orchestra.

My particular favourites are when it speeds up and the leaves- the larger ones- sound like bold umbrellas, throwing the rain off to the ground. Then there's the pitter-patter on the pavement and the one that falls off the edge of the roof. These come in different versions too. Each one makes it's own noise, depending on the speed and density of the drop. Drops falling into an already stagnating pool is another wonder!

I can't tell why rain holds so much fascination for me. But it does feels like my second self- falling, battling, raging, quietening down and recreating all over again. Like the Phoenix.

April fields

It spattered on the windshield
as your eyes focused on the road
and I mistook the raindrops
for something else you brew in me.

Dust rose in whirling mountains and Baneshwor looked uglier than ever. In the past seven years, I've watched this part of the city everyday, swiftly freezing into cement and rods and bricks. It's everywhere, taking away what used to be wild long grass, cat-tails and pussy willows.

Elevators are good business in Kathmandu, a voice said. Look at the concrete going up so high everywhere! The other voice said, maybe Otis has its hold here already.

I walked out the teastall. It had begun to drizzle after the churning up of dust, leaves and snapping off of branches. The raindrops came down like falling stars, shooting down at my face as I turned my head toward the sky to welcome the first April shower.

I asked Rabi dai if we would have more rain. He showed me the satellite pictures and said the clouds should move to Kathmandu from the west and head east towards Sikkim. But this drizzle is not enough. We need heavy rainfall. We haven't had water for days. We've been buying water every week.

Of course, we need more rain! Who could know that more than I do? Not just because Kathmandu people will have more water if it rains. But because when it rains, I'll finally be in my element again.