Author: nehaallathur

It grazes,
Slowly.
Then slower,
never losing touch of my skin.

When I was younger,
I welcomed the rain like a game.
I would search for each drop in grey skies
and made amends as I watched them fall,
as if I was looking out for an old friend.

Like curtain call,
they return for every milestone,
to remind me when I have grown.

Rain falls to celebrate.
And just like fate,
it fell three times over.

First, when I met an angel.
In the storms of loss,
It poured.
Even when I was across oceans and away from home.
To comfort emotions I’ve never felt before.
Embraced and enveloped,
precipitation became a safe haven,
And I didn’t realize the touch of rain could heal.

And then, as I slowly fell in love.
Love, it makes you forget the rain.
But it keeps falling with me.
Nature cries to calm the embers
of a girl struggling
to let her guard down.
It creates a glow that ignites
an unexpected bliss.
I didn’t realize the touch of rain
would feel like a kiss.

And finally, when I learned who I was.
A lone walk past empty seats,
Brought me to this evening.
To a 90 minute soundtrack with greater meaning.
It was a calm before the thunder.
I surrendered to my wonder
And I diverged on my own.
I didn’t realize the touch of rain could be powerful alone.
So from now I will walk in the rain like it’s my throne.

My last words were not perfect.
My last glance was none at all.

I was trying to race time
from the second you stood up.
But I could not ease my mind
to string together thoughts.

How could I find words for all those moments?
For all the emotions that echo everywhere I go.

There are no perfect last words.

But I think about what I would have said,
if there were.

I would have comforted you
Instead of feel my hurt.

I would have reminded you
sometimes our hands are clumsy.
We drop fragile hearts
we hoped to protect.

But hearts that mend transcend
the love it had before.
It blooms in ways it’s never explored,
reaching the sky to touch the moon.
Stitched together to make room
for new things to adore.

I appreciate you
for the care you show.

I appreciate you
for letting me grow.

I appreciate you
more than you know.

I appreciate you.

Perhaps, my last words were perfectly true.

Before children start sleeping with memories
to look back on,
A nostalgic vault,
meant for safekeeping,
but never with its lock on,
they can only imagine of what could be.
Dreaming of a future where they would see
the grace of age swept away by the river.

Tides of childhood crash on shore,
As early bonds forge and turn folklore
into missions to explore;
with every mention of maturity,
youthful optimism is deplored
to have crayoned ideas be more respected,
and backyard ponds take us around the world.

We try to grow up,
in hopes that age will let us go.
Stop gripping us to our seat.
Locking us at home.

When will you realize age is your protector?
A collector of laughter,
advocator of reckless spur.
A metamorphosis of time,
keeping your life from accelerating,
until you cannot make anything of the blur.

When that time comes, oh what a wonderous transformation!
Vibrant and thunderous, with no hesitation.
A breakthrough and bestowment,
from hurrying to grow up to savoring every moment.

He moves slowly,
clinging onto warmth like armor for war.
His long primate tail lined with frost, heart exhausted,
Away and alone, lost from his home.
Unaware of his fate, paths soon to be crossed,
nature has a wickedly sweet course to bring us together.

Dark starless nights with snow fall,
as innocent as a feather,
causes his toes to curl up.

Blistering all life until pushed beyond our strife.
Sacred, the breaths that exist amidst theses storms.

He follows an innate connection,
perhaps a beautiful view of natural selection.
A feeling, a calling,
a mutual collection of responding to each other.
There is an art to winter communities,
Building life-sustaining unity
Listening to each opportunity to survive
Together.

He does not need to understand this necessary kinship,
Or agree to hold each other in the storm for good stewardship,
But when the time comes, they will reach for each other.
Always.
Intertwined to create a shield of resilience,
unconditional love kindled by nature’s brilliance.

“The only way to survive these harsh winter nights is by sticking together.”

I love you to the moon and…
And what?
And back to this town?
Where I feel the gravity of their eyes on me?
Depravity of the lies I hear?
No.
Not back.
I do not want to come back.
So what if we just stayed on the moon?

Without any context,
Or caring what comes next,
Without fear of any conflict,
Or anyone feeling vexed.

Every smiling moment,
Has been shared under the moon.

In the bliss of torrential downpours and concert encores.
Deep breaths under twinkling fairy lights and dimly lit starry nights.

But on Earth the moon sets at dawn.
And uncertainties are redrawn
In bright colors for everyone to see.

On the moon,
However,
We could last forever.
Stars help make amends,
and there would be no critics.
Like a song that never ends,
We could live between the lyrics.

Waiting is indifferent to your desires.
Careless about the fires ignited for those
people and places you long for.

She has a cunning style,
cloaked in a fragrance of temptation.

Waiting is patient,
She waits until you cannot wait any longer.
Then She grips onto your life
with a hold that cannot be stronger.

She works universally,
unapologetically,
knows no boundaries,
dancing with our fragile hearts
simultaneously.

Waiting has no intention to comfort you.
No incentive to soothe your anxious mind
in the intervals of time in between.
For She holds time in her hand,
elongating it for no reason except for that She can.

She is cruel like that.
Waiting is cruel.

And then
just like that,
She is gone.

She’s replaced by a blink of euphoria
in the eyes that meet,
a sight of sweet smiles,
streets coming alive
just for you.
And all that time spent waiting
melts away.
She’s forgotten.

It’s a feeling worth waiting for.