Coffee Stains

Burning Rain

Nostalgia, though.

I remember our first days.

I had defeated my demons then, and the post-war trauma was still young in my blood. The ghosts of the gashes still visited me sometimes, when all was dark. And the cuts still burned when I looked at a sword.

I had left my war-ridden home behind, and now I walked a new land. A strange land. A lonely land.

I remember wandering. My heart tugging this way and that, while I fought to look cold and hard. All I really wanted was a little shade from the sun that was hellbent on burning me.

She was better.

She came like rain, and washed all the war paraphernalia away. The dirt, the grime, the blood.

In the lonely land, she was the lone smile. And oh, what a smile it was. Bright, and sparkling, and full of youth. She had eyes made of hope and of the prospect of happiness. She smiled at me, when I wandered alone, and then we wandered together.

And I guess this is the travelogue.

We travelled together, her and I, and suddenly the sunshine was bright, not burning. She taught me to see the shine, and to embrace the warmth.

She pointed out the wondrous views when we were falling down a cliff. She heard the waves of a stream when we ran out of water. And she hunted too, when we were hungry.

She told me I burned bright. She showed me I could burn brighter. And when my own flames burned me, her words were my fire extinguisher.

She read my words, and I read her expressions. And in the midst of it all, my war was left far behind.

There were no demons now. No ghosts, no gashes, no cuts. No paraphernalia, except for the strength she made me see in me.

Then one day, the sunshine set my rain on fire. She had her own fires to quench. I remember the shock of the realisation.

She became my burning rain.

Oh, the wonder.

My war was left far behind, but she is still the burning rain.

Her showers are still on fire. And oh, how the flames dance. I was there when they engulfed her, watching helpless and useless. But they dance at her feet now, licking the burns they caused.

She is shrouded in steams now: the fog of chance and choices. The vapours hide her, and suffocate her, and protect her.

She has been shrouded for some time now. But I see the fog lifting now, the dew clinging to her skin and making her sparkle.

Today is the first day of a new monsoon.

And today the rain is clear, and bright, and cleansing. Tonight the fires might burn again, but today the rain will not burn.

Today, it will rain.

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Happy Birthday malikzlays