On a night like this..

From among the leaves, shiny and wet, thickly meshed over glistening girth of wood, the yellowish light from a lamp-post erect with an aura of eeriness manages to show itself as a tiny blot as I look through my window. The rain is banging the ground hard and the music is driving my senses crazy. This is life, I say. The immobile life is in a state of trance. The essence of motion is pouring down from above. And from among the immobile life, a man, robed totally in synthetic balloon-jacket, heads down and dry under a hood, walks by the yellowish haze, with a suggestion of a supernatural gait. A march of life. A celebration of life. The darkness of the hour hides in its arms the mundaneness, and something from the heaven comes down to cleanse the world under, unleashing the beauty and mysteriousness that the light of the day keeps us from seeing. This is life, I say. It's time for rain to play, let it play. Nature alone and no human intervention. Let nature sing for itself and I shall listen. Your song is beautiful, I say. And from among the immobile life, a lean man with his lungi wrapped up around his knees, head covered in an umbrella, walks slowly down the road, with a suggestion of a natural gait. A hint of scarcity? Blessed is the man of scarcity who can walk down the street with an umbrella on a night like this. Beauty lies in the eyes of scarcity. It rains for the sake of scarcity on Earth. This is life, I say.

I gaze through my window to see more.

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