The Rain At Play Poem by Santosh Bakaya

The roads shone reflecting the glow of street lights
Threading down in two golden festoons.
The moon had the air of a goofy stand-up comedian
Lopsidedly it smiled and then quickly hid
Behind a horde of clouds. Gray and ominous.
The rain stopped.
Maybe tomorrow it would come again?

Morning came, to the pitter -patter of rain.
The bitter, the teeth-gritter, the fence-sitter, the web-knitter, the hard- hitter all were swept by rain's refrain.

Patter -patter!
I could hear the water gurgling down drainpipes.
In a spurt of juvenile glee, I ran to the balcony.
The wind drove a stinging breeze into my face.
Trucks rattled past shooting a spray of mud
Someone slipped on the road with a thud!
The drenched cow stopped chewing the cud
Watching the scene with a bovine curiosity.
The clouds were in paroxysms of untrammeled gaiety

In the rainy dawn
The wind lashed everyone with withering scorn.
The clouds rumbled and roared, and the rain poured.
The streets throbbed with rollicking humor gay
With a devil may care recklessness, the rain was at play!