A paused game

It was a rainy evening of May,
We were tired of sitting and,
Gazing at the downpour.
Through the gaps of my fingers,
The roaring thunder did crawl in.
Tear stained window panes,
Waved wide in the winds.
At out the windows far,
Lay our ground wet with,
The cricket game half done.
And the bat that was aside,
Needed a bath for sure.
The muddy ball needed it,
As well, I reckon.

I wondered, when was the time,
That wetting in the rains,
Would no longer make us sick.
I always wanted to, but
May be they were true.
For I never wanted to be sick.
For being sick is of no good.
They said; had to,
Eat big bitter pills..
Rain was still at it’s best.

The corridors with no lights,
Were half asleep except for,
The tapping toes and giggles.
We ran to the old bookcase,
Reached hands and,
Got some stuffs down.
Tore the pages in haste.
Folded it over and over,
In turns till then the boats,
Were ready for a sail.

Side by side in the muddy water,
They made oars of their own.
May be they could know,
They were to sail all the way,
Down the winds, empty.
Empty to them, at least-
For us they were loaded,
With heaps of hopes and happiness.
And they never sink or,
That’s how I remember them now.

And finally the clouds lifted,
The last drop was sooner wiped.
Sun rays were smirking at then.
Though knowingly they couldn’t-
For longer keep them close,
The trees; big and small,
Held them, the fallen rain drops.
The sun torching lights by them,
Made them into diamonds uncut,
Hanging down from there.
They could have stayed longer,
If I wasn’t there,
To pluck them apart for self.

Busy playing then I was,
For they had already began,
The game, without me.
And it was dusk falling down,
Had to halt the game till dawn.
It was joyful, that evening,
As long as we never knew,
How thrilling it would have-
Been playing in that rain.
To think of; being sick a day,
Or two was okay, but,
Will we ever get a chance to:
Have a shower in that rain?
Or may be it’s late to be that
Great kid again!!


Lameesa Sherin

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