Monday, August 9, 2010

Raindrops

A gust of wind, lots of little brown leaves, a broken twig and a lost soul. A bus full of people, the cacophony of an unknown city, the hustle bustle, the sweat patches under every arm and then the rain. Making patterns on the window, making puddles on the street, washing the sweat and the dust, making the tired souls active. Some swear, some get irritated, some are lucky to have an umbrella, some grumble, some just get animated to see the rain. More hustle bustle. More chatter. A din generated by multi language conversations. These souls are all refugees. People living in a foreign land in their own countries. They don't go back home to smiling faces. No hugs await them. No one waits at dinner table for them. A piece of bed and a box of food is all that greets you when you come back. Inanimate objects replace animated hands. They get down of the buses and the raindrops greet them today. They fall in a hurry. They fight and push each other on their way down to land on the tired soul's head. The soul smiles, shivers, thinks of someone, a tear rolls down, the raindrops keep fighting to land on the head. Blaring horns, bright head lights, mud splashes. A child jumps into the puddle, the father scolds. The child jumps again, the tired soul smiles. Raindrops keep rushing down. Raindrops keep falling on my head....

1 comment:

  1. awsom.... very tru yaar.... it expresses al dat wer running within my heart nd brains yesterday in d rain.... miss hom... miss friends... miss colege... miss al d owns, near and dear ones, d warmth...

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