Dr. Baishali Bhaumik Mitra
Kolkata
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Rain

When the falling rain
tiptoes on earth and
the drizzle cautiously
embraces the breeze and
kisses my lips mischievously;
when a sudden gust of wind
tosses my stubborn tendril
driving away the ringlets
away from my forehead,
I raise my face
toward the falling rain
I lose myself.

I smile at your query -
“Why are you women so obsessed with rain? ”
I tenderly keep my poesy
beside your pillow
and let them whisper into your ears.
They tell you,
It’s not just the rain
but the fragrance of you!

You had worn this rainfall
and left it in my courtyard.
Its folds and fabric caressed you,
its creases
held you close,
cuddled you.
Its color still reflects your essence,
the imprint of your love
is still visible on its sleeves.
That’s why I wear it too;
to feel it all over me and
hear the resonance of your voice
in its melodious humming.
At times, it feels
a little tight near my chest
when I feel the tug of your hand
groping for me unconsciously in sleep.
The way you will rest your head
on my bosom, your eyes closed
in heavenly peace,
merges with the drops of the drizzle
that hover on my face,
taking me to eternal bliss.
The rainfall you wore
and left on my courtyard
is still vibrant and warm as life.

I do not know about other women
But for me, my love,
the rain is you
and I hear your melody
in its falling tune;
as if it is played by you
on your love – flute.

Now I wait alone for another rain to come
so that we can wear it together.
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