But, there is no rain

The music plays in the background.

All she can see is the storm coming.

The dark clouds settle over the horizon and lay in wait for their signal.

The thunder.

To mark the beginning of the onslaught.

The storm.

A flash of what could have been and what has been.

The lightning.

The music plays for her.

The storm is because of her.

But, there is no rain.

Mélange

Airports can be so lonely sometimes. Not the fullofpeoplebutyoustillfeellonely kind of lonely. But the itissoemptybecausenooneelseisthere kind of lonely.



The picture above is a blend of some of those moments.

Walk on water

. The shimmering
. . Highlights on water
. . . Envelope a pathway



. My mortal self
. . Obliged
. . . Once again to be
. . . . Next to immortality

Mesh of memories

Travel is a starting and ending point of memories. Memories created, recreated and realised. Similarly, memories completed, destroyed and desecrated.

And while this mesh is being woven, you live those moments and take thousands of pictures in your head, reels and reels of movies in you mind. All, so that you can go back and relive them, or hide them, as may be the case.



Sometimes, you capture moments that may not have any meaning to you at the time, but when you look back, they define the trip, the journey. Can one lone picture capture the mesh of memories of a single journey?

Learning to fly

This is my life
And everything else
Revolves around it
And as it revolves
I live it

This is his life
And everything else
Is absolutely still
And as it is still
He moves it

This is her life
And everything else
Is happening now
And as it happens
She creates it

This is our life
And everything else
Falls into place
And as it falls
We enjoy it

This is their life
And everything else
Ceases to exist
And as it ceases
They drown in it

This is life
And everything else
Builds it up
And as it builds
It is lived

In a moment

The gentle sounds of rain trickled down the window pane behind her. It was a strange sound from inside her glass cage and made her look back to assess what was happening. A storm was brewing. Brewing but not yet started. Like her day, which was brewing. Unfortunately, the horrible taste of instant coffee lingered in her mouth. As did the music that she soaked into this morning. As the echoes of the soaked music mixed with the sharp bitterness of the instant coffee, she paused to reflect. In a moment, she could see the flashes of lightning run across her glass cage. It seemed to fragile now. Life seemed so fragile. An instant, and everything could be gone. And she got caught within that moment and those thoughts as everything moved around her.

A view from the clouds

. Again
. . New clouds
. . . Greet me when
. . . . Returning home to
. . . . . You



. Could
. . Love be the answer
. . . Of your
. . . . Understanding
. . . . . Despite the anger
. . . . . . Shown

Uprooted?

The city dissolved into the night before my very own eyes. It was twilight when I saw it. The touch of crimson in the sky, the sky line eating its way into the night, the bright lights yearning to be in the middle, tilting the balance of the city along with the last light. This sinking feeling as I am writing this. This sinking feeling in a sinking city. Moving down. Slowly. Going down. Slowly. Down from the neck, down the spine, pinning you to the floor. A crucifixion of your roots.

Not about rain

A yellow leaf floats by
Followed by a few more
A drop caresses my forehead
And trickles down as more leaves pass

Suddenly the rain is here
Not unexpected but welcome
One by one the drops cover the earth
Causing helter skelter here and there

Ugly fat noisy raindrops
Spear their way through
Rattling at anything and everything
Showing their unforgiving nature

Lightning crashes and thunder roars
Dreams and demons get washed away
Her breathing is constant through this
Like her presence always there

Heaven beckoned

The war came to an end with a realization. A realization of the futility of the cause that was being fought for. As the dust separated the dead from the wounded, sunlight streaked across the horizon. The smell of war wafted through the battlefield. A lone figure stood at the edge of the river. Broken, bruised and battered. The dirty blood mixed water ran through, lapping at his feet. A lone tear traced its way down his cheek and fell in slow motion. Plop, it landed, mixing with the dirty blood water lapping at his feet. The war had ended. His realization was complete. Heaven beckoned.