Drizzles make me giddy
Thunderstorms bring the melancholy
Air back into my lungs and thoughts into my brain
Morning showers illuminate
My eternally frenzied imagination
I love the way she is a distraction
Teetering on the ledge of destruction
With all the elegance of a Muse
And all the violence of a gale
Were she a religion
A saint, I’d remain
Were she a mortal sin
Insatiable, I would thrive
Cool droplets trickle down
My beaming face
The drizzle whirls me to Paris
Mellow, pink and romantic
I huddle under the meager shelter
Of a grim and dim bus-stand
The thunder bellowing in my ears
I’m in a place called Peril
Alas! She makes me aware and fear
The charming, hypnotic curse of mortality
Through detriment and desire
I remain faithful to her forces
Yearning and thrusting
In this whimsical enigma
I’m alone and I’m home
I guess you could say
The rain is my spirit
My torrential, turbulent, entrancing, spirit

Cover image by Vishal Bhutani on Unsplash. This poem first appeared on Karisshma Kaur’s blog.