It started with a whisper low,
A sky in gray, a softened glow.
The breeze turned cool, the trees stood still,
As if the world had caught a chill.
The clouds, they crept like ancient lore,
And tapped upon the window’s door.
Then came the rain — a sudden guest,
A nomad seeking nature’s rest.
She came in slow, with gentle pace,
And drew a smile on nature’s face.
She kissed the roofs and kissed the sand,
And held the earth in tender hands.
The fields once cracked and brown with thirst,
Now drank the drops with joy that burst.
The river, silent for so long,
Began to hum its monsoon song.
A girl looked out with eyes so wide,
She watched the rain with silent pride.
It brought her back to childhood days,
Of paper boats and puddle plays.
The chai steamed hot, the pakoras fried,
The windows open, world outside.
And every flash of silver streak
Lit up the sky, bold yet sleek.
The air smelled rich, of earth and dew,
A smell that only rain can brew.
The pages turned, the stories poured,
As thunder clapped and heavens roared.
A boy in boots, a pup in tow,
Both danced beneath the skies aglow.
The street became a water stage,
For laughter young and joy of age.
And in the café, on the lane,
Two hands met near a foggy pane.
They spoke not words, just sipped and saw,
The magic of the rain in awe.
The shop was closed, the lanterns dim,
Yet hearts lit up from deep within.
For in the rainy season’s grace,
We all slow down, we find our place.
Yes, rain may flood and thunder loud,
But hides within each roaring cloud,
A gentle song, a healing light,
That washes dreams and wrongs in flight.
And when she leaves, the sky will clear,
A rainbow bends, the blue draws near.
But deep inside, she leaves her trace,
A silent peace, a quiet space.