Rain in the night

A desire is a lower body, a higher mind, a midnight’s  rain,  a tree’s stance. A wind that is making midnight unduly vocal. Dogs are contextually missing .But snakes exist in their slither down the drainpipe of rainwater. The rain slams  the sleeping voices of  drunk watchmen fitfully  alert with their sticks. Their wives’ laughter stays hidden in a medulla , a hibiscus flower meant for goddess worship. Their daughters mutter newly learnt “A” for Apple  in sleep.

The rain is incident ,knocking conjugal doors at odd hours. Interfering in conversations..When we wake up from conversations our dreams begin.Our daydreams of golden sunlight, when there is no more  gray and silver rain but an exquisite sun-and-rain situation, where the sun warmly collides with rain.Where the rain and sun live in mutual bliss.

Like when dogs and vixen used to marry in our childhood. That was  when the kids persuaded the rain to beat our roofs on promises of chicken eggs, duck eggs. The grown up rain has no mind nor  body to eat eggs. But rain was a child’s  friend and a  friend had to eat farm-fresh chicken eggs for breakfast. So it could beat our asbestos roofs faster. And slither smoothly down its corrugations along with dried yellow flowers waiting  to drop to the earth.

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