ISSN (Print) - 0012-9976 | ISSN (Online) - 2349-8846

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Education: Rain Water

The rain trickles far away

Falls onto the dusty pavement, unknown
The footsteps of children become quicker
Their laughter reminding me of Sunday school;
The little monks who smiled all day, giggling
Behind their saffron handkerchiefs
The cries from the minarets are drowned out briefly by
The drums from the temple nearby
Reminding us that the full moon has brought us
A holiday, a break in the middle of the week
Just to breathe.

The rain trickles far away

Falls onto the dusty pavement, unknown
The footsteps of children become quicker
Their laughter reminding me of Sunday school;
The little monks who smiled all day, giggling
Behind their saffron handkerchiefs
The cries from the minarets are drowned out briefly by
The drums from the temple nearby
Reminding us that the full moon has brought us
A holiday, a break in the middle of the week
Just to breathe.

But the footsteps, the rain trying to drown them out
The brownish white shoes digging holes into the mud
Brings back memories of more recent times.
A rainy day in my grandmother’s village
Where crowds gathered ‘round to witness a miracle
The baby’s cries drowned out the rain,
Shrill yet promising better days to come.
We were different from the start, from the very beginning
You had a God, I had a path
We spoke two dialects of the same language.
Like the rain, our love drowned out the reality
Of what lay ahead

And now as our worlds are torn apart
Ripped into shreds for the sake of some pride
Pride that is as shrill and distant as the adhaan
The rain will remind us of the purity of what was left
And the disease of what is to come.
Soaked in orange cloth they will watch
Until you surrender to their demands
But I will stand by you, invisible
Shivering under the same rain
Holding you, soothing you,
Praying for sun.

The rain water drips, drips
Into the muddy sands of the temple grounds
I walk up the path to the cold stone statue
Littered with rotten flowers and burnt incense
It has stopped now, yet the smell of rot remains.
I will find my solitude here, I will stay.
I will share with you the forgotten wisdom
Of my grandmother’s chants
They are hidden in the mud you see, beneath the stone
Beneath the soil and the dried up bo leaves

I don’t see it but it will emerge, not now
But when the dripping rain water dries
 

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