Who is a Storm’s Muse?

Few months during the year I decide to visit this parched, dust laden, sad city and like always I’m greeted by taller towers and glassier buildings. The locals delight at my arrival, however are too occupied running errands or making (what I assume) communication through a tiny box pinned to their ears to some distant land.

Some, after months of baking like bricks in the sweltering heat, afford a slight look of gratitude above, then continue with their daily tasks unconcerned by the myriad colours of the sky.

This time I visited this city at night. So full of lights it’s like the sky is upside down. Tiny, sparkling dots moving this way and that like ants. I’m going by as ceremoniously as I can when i spot her. A tiny, motionless space in the vast labyrinth of this city perched alone on a rooftop, staring right through me. Her head is fixed above, boring through me, perhaps smiling too. I can’t see her face, she’s only a shadow but I can sense her feeling every gust of wind I’m thrusting below.

This intensity and passion; I haven’t felt this from human race for a long time. It’s like she wants to reach out- it’s like she’s already reaching out.

I almost wish to swoop her from earth and show her lands and places she’s never seen before, to fill the void in her heart from all the wonder she craves, but I must leave. Humans are too big a burden to bear. To let her know that I was here & I saw her and that her presence, however overlooked by the human race was noticed from above, I send a few raindrops below, assisted by the wind, hoping they land on her skin and she knows. She will.

*

The weather is lovely tonight. I can only see dying remains of another tedious day from my rooftop but somehow the void is not scary. “And tonight,” I chuckle covertly, I”got company.” The wind. Oh how I love the wind. The sky is a perfect grey. The moon shines and occasionally sends its silver beams my way, sneaking through rolling clouds who always seem to be in a hurry.

I gaze at the moon almost like a wolf. Grateful that I’m here to witness the sky rumbling with unease, a storm in its chest. But I want more. I’ve always wanted more of storms. Wanted to be inside them. I lower my eyes achingly and continue to walk when a tiny, perhaps stray drop of water lands on my eyelid. I look up, my eyes wide. Another one lands on my arms.

“I know,” I smile at the sky.

It didn’t rain on anyone else that night.

Love always,

Your blogger.

Before The Storm

When I was little, one of the many things I waited earnestly for, were storms. They usually hit our city at night, and I used to gobble my food as fast as I could, so as to not miss a second of it.
I remember I was around 7 when I realized I was fascinated with sharp claps of thunder and dark, grey ominous clouds thrusting the wind down upon us. The ferocious, swift gushes of wind. But that wasn’t​ the best part.

The best part was standing right in the middle of the soft howling and feeling the air pierce itself while blowing against my skin. Realising, that at this instant, I’m in the wind’s way of wherever it is heading.

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Staring at the revolting clouds stretched far across the sky, shielding the stars and blanketing the night into a thick, impassable darkness. And the sky is breaking apart while a low, yet consistent boom of  clouds can be heard, like an old God is furious and is expressing his disapproval of the human kind. It evoked in me, a certain maudlin sense of satisfaction.

So when today the first storm of the season hit our city, I found myself following the same pattern. Gorging the dinner as fast as I can and then rushing outside, right in the centre of the stage.

I always make sure I walk against the wind; in whatever direction it is blowing, I’m always walking against it. It gives me the feeling  like I’m challenging the storm, in a puny way of course.

And no, never once in my life have I been afraid. It always felt like home. As a child I remember, I used to envisage that some day the storm will take me away with it. Somewhere far, in some new, Utopian realm.  And I would say goodbye to this godforsaken place.

So my usual walk at night today was wild, like I covet. I stood alone on a stretch of road, with not a single living soul in sight. No lamps, no torch, just the fitful electric streaks of thunder, making the gaps among the giant menacing clouds visible, if only for a split second.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and whispered within, ‘beautiful.’

RAIN

 

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Sitting cocooned in the arms of my soft blanket, my cold fingers warmed by a hot cup of coco while an overturned book rested on the side table, patiently waiting for its owner to resume caressing its pages; my gaze turned to the light showers of rain, that had now become torrential.

A cold brush of rain swept my hair and it fluttered and tickled and gave me a giggle. Closing my eyes I took a deep breath and inhaled the moist earth, relieved from the scorching burden of carrying 7 billion lives. Staring out of my window, I smiled at the stormy sky, and the charcoal clouds smiled back, sending down a gush of wind to acknowledge my presence.

Occasional thunder paid me a visit, but I brushed it away as a token of friendship.

Taking my arms out, I tried to feel the rain. Watching every drop slide down my slender wrists, eventually falling into oblivion. Some naughty ones even splashed on my cheeks, giving them a natural cleanse of nature.

I could feel the earth breathe, hot air rising from below. I could feel its burning surface cool as those stout icy drops splashed on the rugged terrain. A little group of children played in puddles; reckless, their unconventional laughter echoing with the soft pitter-patter. A woman ran to take temporary shelter, though smiling aimlessly in the endeavor.

Dry yellow leaves covered the road, providing it with a kaleidoscopic blanket; the green ones preferred to enjoy the view from above.

Surrounded among all this life, I couldn’t help but wonder, how every strand of creation experiences an aspect in a different way. Every one acknowledges the rain in their own worldly manner.

Reaching the pinnacle of tranquility, when the exhausted Earth kissed the sky, I tied up my frantic hair, and bid my goodbye.