What is the language of rain?

Published: August 5, 2018

Water pours from the sky like it wants to wash us away, like it means to keep hammering until we smudge like a Monet masterpiece. PHOTO: PINTEREST

Like all mutinies, it begins as a whisper in the air.

The sky turns tar-black as the dark clouds, ominous and threatening, negotiate an evil conspiracy…

A coup against the sun.

I hear a tapping on the window, announcing a much awaited arrival. Rain floats in gentle waves, as if gravity is a soft music from the Earth, a sweet seducing serenade. People run for cover; umbrellas are opened, temporary shades are sought, as the clouds spit out their beads of water. Puddles begin plinking, as the drops huddle in groups. Monsoon dew dances on the darkening pavement, as I hear the murmuring of rain through the glass.

Water pours from the sky like it wants to wash us away, like it means to keep hammering until we smudge like a Monet masterpiece. The heavens bang our doors, roofs and window panes, demanding our attention. Steady musical beats of the rain trump all human sounds with the magnificent indifference of nature.

Gagging our words but awakening our senses.

Creating a deafening white noise.

Similar to silence…

But not empty.

And I stand there alone, wondering…

What language does rain fall in?

Drops landing on outstretched palms speak of innocence and wonder. The first greet of a stranger; a surprise, a little thrill, promises and maybe happiness. Depending on the receiver, these pellets are equally capable of infusing blushing redness or paling the skin upon contact.

The drizzle on our faces are reassurances. Thin layers of calming hymns that take away the dark songs of the night. A peaceful melody with a soothing echo in its string. Droplets soaking weary eyelashes before they join their brethren on the ground. Only the pinkness of the eye giving away any clue to the storm brewing inside. A simple drop of rain, carrying years of shattered hopes and dreams, streaks quivering lips. The water clenching to the skin for just a moment longer than planned, for it knows our story.

Soft trails trickling down our necks behave like matches trying to light a fire; naughty and resilient in their motives. Crafting chaos and numbing tracks as it slides down, creating secret whirlpools. Each drop gliding slowly, trying to find a cradle, a puddle, perfectly formed, perfectly cold. The water stealing body heat just a tiny bit at a time. Hesitant, but sure of the path it wants to take. A stroll over unknown territory – fast becoming familiar.

Then there are daggers that fall like slanting sheets, slicing silences in half. The light ‘pitter patter’ turns into a battle cry. Inventing new music, humming on transparent panes and drumming on rooftops. Slapping over barebacks, driven by the need to envelope; chaotic and wild. Consuming entire beings, glossing mattes, deepening colours, clearing up frothy confusions. Rapid rivers and raging seas trapped inside tiny little drops, bent on destroying everything in their path. Heated pearls on a mission, creating fireworks with every swirl, invoking insidious uprisings and finally, surrendering to the battles that are won through defeat.

So I stand there alone… wondering…

What language does rain fall in?

From whispers to wails, it speaks to me.

Do you hear it too?

Shamael Fraz

Shamael Fraz

The author is an entrepreneur, a social media influencer, a voracious reader and a passionate writer. She can be a coffee snob, with sarcasm as her loyal side kick.

The views expressed by the writer and the reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of The Express Tribune.

  • Saman Arshad

    These words surely doesn’t belong to this world. Literally Beautiful 💕Recommend

  • Farrukh

    Must be a blessing and a curse to feel things like this.Recommend

  • Kashif

    This is so beautifully expressed that it practically made me feel that its raining outside my window .Recommend

  • Ikhlaq

    It was an intimate journey to read this . I don’t think I will ever see rain again the way i used to . A brilliant piecof poetry .Recommend

  • Guest

    It is strange how two people can see the same view so differently. My thoughts were visual as I also stared outside my window, probably not too far away, watching the first dark clouds gather and then some drops and and then some more drops. I saw the drops turn into a drizzle, then it poured some more until it completely drenched the view blurring everything and smudging the scene like a “Monet Masterpiece”. It was so beautiful that the air decided to join the dance of these long lost lovers. The union uncontrollable and uncontained, sliding from one place to another. And i was standing there, watching this cosmic union and thinking, isnt this absolutely beautiful.

    Moments later, I read this piece

    What a beautiful piece of writing.Recommend

  • Shamael Fraz

    Thanks Saman. ❤️Recommend

  • Shamael Fraz

    thank you sir.Recommend

  • anxious

    i stopped reading at coup against the sun. rain is nothing more than a contract between the sun and the ocean.Recommend

  • Shamael Fraz

    sorry to hear rain doesn’t speak to you at all.

    thank you for reading three lines I guess?Recommend

  • Chaudhary Haider

    its not a contract between Sun and ocean but a love feelings of clouds and Air. both are dancing like one sweet couple like love birds, like a thoughts of swimming in dreams <3Recommend

  • Maira

    Worth readingRecommend

  • Rain Lover

    The rain will never be the same for me now. Like I can feel it now.Recommend

  • Zain Murtaza Maken

    Beautifully written! The words that you have chosen to describe the texture of the rain, its pace, its purpose (or lack there of), the music it produces and the feelings it arises, are very, very apt. Looking forward to reading more of your work!Recommend