‘Not all who wander are lost’,
Somewhere on travels their souls awake.
Especially in the rain.
Between merry pitter-patters of a divine melancholy,
An epiphany breaks a slumber
Of an inside you didn’t know you had.
Yawning and stretching, it coaxes you outside,
Tilting your head up to feel water roll down your face;
Streams that are yours only in that moment.
The skin feels not the cold wetness
For the heart owns the tingle.
Within, the quiet reluctance is heard, but not by the ear,
Of droplets teetering on the twig
And then the acceptance of one on the ground.
Ingrained on each drop is a different, silent melody
That a flick of the thunderous baton confluences
Into a choir of harmonious polyphony.
Wander a-while in the rain;
What you will see, hear is real but often not heard or seen.
Feel your heart throb to the waking moments of your soul
And never let it sleep.
The photo is taken from Arnaav Bhavanani’s album: [ˈpraɦa]