Ambiguity, of the Rain
Ambiguity, of the Rain stories
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“The question is, what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?” -Death, The Book thief There is beauty in knowledge, the art of associating the most inexplicit occurrences in this universe, to simply create, is knowledge.
Source: 33batman https://www.reddit.com/r/...

Ambiguity, of the Rain

by 33batman

“The question is, what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?” -Death, The Book thief

There is beauty in knowledge, the art of associating the most inexplicit occurrences in this universe, to simply create, is knowledge.

And how graciously, do colors blend into all of us, little by little, in tiny swirls, and into thoughts.

The way the stormy grey clouds roar into oblivion, surpassing over through the continents, with stealth, sweeping away the sighs of some, the simple wish of rain.

And skies, that adorn magnificence, blotted hues of distorted blue and rose grey, with a peeking glow of dazzling white, there is where oblivion resides.

And where does this all leave us, and those thoughts birthing in our minds? Yet awaiting the drizzling joy….

There is beauty you know, in this vision of ours, the way a school girl glances into that dazzling oblivion, behind the eddy of clouds, there is longing, an anticipated wish, yet unfigured.

The moist blankets her light lashes, her hair tangling behind her neck, too humid, too inexplicable. How bizarre, her purpose lies in the unknown, and yet she anticipates only the rain.

Perhaps, she is in her elemental existence, close to her origin, her name means rain drop, she is the drizzle in the desert, her voice, that sings of splendour.

To wake up as a witness to the world, to the clash of vermilion, with the fiery orange, specks of golden littering magic, streaking in the waves of the ocean, right when the glorious sun ascends,

when the rain recedes, leaving behind to behold, the bow of rain.

The grass, untrodden, awaits the rush of naked feet. Children, who love to rush against the dewy grass, stifling giggles, embracing this world.

The untimely grace of the fair feet, slipping into a haze of green, the sodden mud, evoking life, have you witnessed it?

There is beauty, in being intoxicated by your own presence, for this drizzle of joy to site in you, what had been forgotten.

Poems, dwell deeper than depths. They are an imprecise branch of charm, luring eyes, accustomed only to words. Ringing with sincerity, these poetic words blur with the hum of falling drops.

And stories? They rob you of the consciousness, your imagination staking into the showers of dreams.

This sweet lure, unbearable, defying the laws of time, travels with unquestionable speed, into the horizons of the known.

Word Count - 413

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