The Rainy Evening


I always wondered what was wrong with them, and then when they came tonight I realized that the problem with them is that they are not afraid of falling. That they are blissfully sad a state of dispute that only rain drops can accomplish.
I sat with my knees touching the window pane as these little rain drops came rushing down towards the earth. The air smelled of love, a love that rain had for the sand and as that dreadfully beautiful smell filled the air I knew that this evening was going to be very sad.

I still love rain, my love. I said looking towards the sky but may be now the rain doesn’t love me back. For now it doesn’t bring me the peace that it once brought, for now the rain doesn’t bring my soul back to me. I think now the rain hates me, as now the rain brings our memories back to me, for now the rain lashes my soul with pain. Once the rain sang melody to us, but now it only abuses me. 

I haven’t forgotten those nights my love, nights when the rain touched your body and your hairs played with the wind, nights which were spent beneath the grey sky inside the heart of thunder, they were the only lucky nights when the sky screamed and we laughed.

And now you see my dear the sky is painted with the color of my sad soul and the voice that echoes the land is not of those clouds that clatter above the horizon this voice is of memories that fight there way to my heart. 

I still remember the way those raindrops fought with your skin, the way the water trickled down your smooth hands, the way you shivered when the wind smashed your wet body frame the way my eyes saw that moment is the way my mind remembers it, not a frame of it has been lost to the sands of times everything is just as new.

The window pane now blurred with water, and through that blurred vision I can see two young eager, fervent souls, they are standing beneath the same grey sky they are committing the same monstrous crime.

I really wish that I could only go there and show them the price that has to be paid for only getting a little wet. But cowardice filled my soul and more than fear old memories gripped my legs. I had promised her that I would never feel the rain again so I sat there and saw the crime being committed.

I have wondered always, if someday I go out there. If someday I break that promise and let the rain envelope my body what will it do to me? Will it bring those peaceful moments back, or will it crush my soul with the black burden of memories or maybe as water has always done wipe my slate clean, maybe it will wash everything that this heart has seen. I know that the later is the most possible and maybe that is the reason that I don’t let the rain touch my heart. 

“As till the heart is painted black there is still hope, of her love lingering back.”

By Ahmed Salim

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