with each falling rain drop,
the home bound evening crowd
gets weary and impatient.
But to me the rain outside
provides the perfect gestalt and
as I rummage through
a book of poems by Rumi.
“Oh, cloud of gentle rain, pour down
Come, let us friends get truly drunk
And you, the king of tricksters
Befuddled with drink we all greet you”
you have flooded away
all my weariness
all my impatience.
Even in a gloomy evening like this
the clouds bring in messages of hope.
Your voice from the faraway land
is now my own voice
coming from a hidden depth of myself
The key I lost long back
has reappeared on its own.
It fits in to reveal the veiled
and elusive maiden of ecstasy.