In darkness the rain etches itself into light. Forms and figures turn senile, just a backdrop resting behind the tipper-tapper of the rain. Lethargic and redundant memories often invade the silent corridors of the mind. Yet the mind remains calm and serene delving deeper into myopia of thoughts, until all there is, is just the rain and its incoherent ticking sounds appreciating the disjointed passage of time.
In the back of my mind thoughts of you still subconsciously yield condolence. Condolence accompanied by the bickering of proud ire turned calm by the cold vapors of rain. Of rain that reminds me of the cement bench on which the rain dropped and bounced and dropped and bounced; and there were we, wet and callous, hands held firm, immersed in our world; our world of rain that I miss.
I miss you so much it rains.
There was darkness that would devour you in its beauty; darkness that would give rain its anonymity, its silence and presence of entity that rain so craved. The rain would come; it would come amidst tumbling clouds rushing towards the cloistered city walls, towards street children running about in splashes of dirty drain waters, towards roadside tea stalls with fuming clay stoves sheltered in shaky tin roofs, towards empty verandas and windows that reflect the coarse hair of housemaids and towards rooftops filled with clothes hung and left to dry. The rain enshrouded in darkness would come for them, and for you and I.
At the end of the drowsy droning of the clouds, I would still say that crows are the sole benefactors of rain, rinsing themselves on telephone wires with not a care in the world. Everything else just remains the same.
Photographs taken at Bucksbaum Studio, Grinnell College, USA, 2009
Text written on the 06th of November, 2010
© Adnan M. S. Fakir