four in the morning.
the rain
taps my window pane
in quiet secrecy
and i, away from
all matter, all pain
reach where i cannot be.
i find you with me.
once again the rain
in the bustle of the city.
outside the crowded bus
waiting to strike softly
as you emerge carelessly.
black shoe sharp nail
crushes a rose petal; the rain
has carefully struck again.
seven in the evening.
i catch you unawares
in the dark; drenched
under the neem
on that stonehearted bench.
why is your lonesome pain
making a date with rain?
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