Rain, Rain

The rains are finally here.
Not feebly trying to encroach into summer and hastily retreating forces, but here in all its burgeoning grey, brobdingnagian glory.

Who doesn’t love rain? Who doesn’t love lazing around? And who doesn’t love good literature?
So, to celebrate, I’ve put together a few excerpts from some of my most-loved poetry, quotes and ramblings(to do rain in both. negative and positive connotations), coupled with a few rain-themed photos I’ve clicked. Enjoy!

[Note: Click on the image to enlarge it to actual size]

10408100_667610006655389_8843970988930466076_n

“Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.

Whenever it rains you will think of her. ”
― Neil Gaiman

“On the fifth day, which was a Sunday, it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.”
Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

10380168_638221712927552_7802329972144660640_o

“Heaven opened and the water hammered down, reviving the reluctant old well, greenmossing the pigless pigsty, carpet bombing still, tea-colored puddles the way memory bombs still, tea-colored minds.”
― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

“It rains
And rains
And rains.
But there is a sky above the rain,
Nothing can rot the sky.
Earth has turned to mud. What of it?
The heart of the planet is made of fire, of ardent sun.
(from “A Rainy Day”)”
Visar Zhiti, The Condemned Apple: Selected Poetry

10452367_662825220467201_7609536049584042245_n

10464280_667610029988720_5740847755666719908_n

“somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands”
― E.E. Cummings

10488007_667648529984870_6114361136685097155_n

I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the
Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn
To embellish the gardens.
I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the
Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn
To embellish the gardens.
The heat in the air gives birth to me,
But in turn I kill it,
As woman overcomes man with
The strength she takes from him.
-Song Of The Rain VII, Khalil Gibran.

10379959_667610053322051_6558012087214545880_o

And this might be considered a little nefarious of me, but-
“Soft as rain and strong as thunder
Between coffee breaks,
You tear me asunder.”
-Me, from a song I’m writing that is underway.

Hope you liked it 🙂
Now go out and catch a cold.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Rain, Rain

  1. smita says:

    And here is one I like a lot..
    Beads of Rain

    Each day I’ve looked
    into the beveled mirror
    on this desk, vainly
    asking it questions
    reflection cannot answer

    Outside, fog and frost
    and silver olive leaves.
    I can see at most
    a half field’s depth
    then the trees are lost
    in the gauzy mist
    like thin unbraceleted arms
    swallowed by billowing sleeves.

    I’d like to face
    that stringent looking glass
    transparent to myself
    As beads of rain
    Pooled on a green leaf.

    But ever self composed
    in self regard,
    and my eyes opaque
    as a dancer’s leotard,
    to see straight through myself
    I need what love supplies:
    its dark arrows, dear,
    not its white lies.

    Carol Maldow

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s