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Raining in Summer
It's raining.
Well, it was at least.
I'm just a nobody in their parents' garage witnessing the aftermath.
And it's raining.
After so long.
I love the rain.
The way it clears the air. Makes it thin. Thinner.
Easier to breathe. And savour the taste.
It's on my tongue now. Pinewood and earth. Petrichor.
This moment where my back is relaxed,
its burdens as if dissipated by a magnificent torrent.
This moment where nothing matters,
except all that my marvelling eyes can see.
Where time has come to a halt,
like the clichés I scoffed at.
Everything is blue and grey,
like the movies I balked at.
I want it to last forever.
There are thick droplets falling on old, rusted stairs.
They have a life of their own - I am convinced.
They must have.
Why must they be so laden?
Brittle enough to splatter on dusty tiles,
yet tired enough to get swayed by the wind that flutters by?
Everything in this world is suffering,
but I am at peace.
The clouds are closing in on each other.
Coalescing.
Hiding the glorious sunset this world vies.
But I have vowed to be someone different
so different I shall be.
Alone. And gleeful.
The shower is ending.
And there's this ache to be drenched.
Two steps away from paradise,
I am halted. Warned.
So I take an umbrella and go nonetheless.
The pit patter on my windowsill.
The fly hanging onto the grill.
I'm watching this scene with someone.
We share it together-
The Most Beautiful Moment in Life.
Now, I'm outside.
Now, I'm free.
No one decides who I get to be.
In my mind, my hair is wet.
In my mind, there is no barrier.
In my heart, I'm nine again.
Playing in the garden right next to this garage,
there are two souls laughing with me
and there are no inhibitions.
You are pushing me down a red, green slide.
And I am pushing a swing with you clutching its sides.
We are together.
Nothing can shatter this.
Nothing will.
In the distance, thunder claps.
Breaks me out of my reverie.
I open my eyes.
The purple umbrella is still over my head.
Somewhere, a car swerves by.
There's a black bird sitting on a transmission wire.
I can see bricks stacked upon each other in the effort to build a home right in front of mine.
There's a guy in his terrace drinking coffee.
And the world's still moving.
There is no effort in existing.
I smile.
Copyright ©
Hiba Junaid
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