Initially, I was only going to leave my poem here and be off to bed. But I opened the window and found myself completely surrounded by torrential rain and I must admit a sudden rush of melancholy came over me. Perhaps it's fair to say that I'm melancholic most of the time I come here to write, and that tonight is no more special than all those other nights, but still. Today is the most reflective and most introverted I've been in a while.

Rain to me, or more like storms, are a symbol of purgation. Hence, that's probably the reason why it's always been therapeutic for me to sit and stare into the distance, as the rain causes streaks of light to appear instead of it's usual beaming ray. It's hard to uncover that side of me to purge myself of my fears and frustrations, so perhaps the rain serves as a visual yearning and manifestation of my desires to rid myself of my emotions. Like rivers overflowing a bank, it's seemingly ceaseless and utterly consumed by it's sole purpose of finding release. It doesn't care of who is in it's path or who is watching or who it may upset. It needs a release and nothing will stop its eventual release. How I envy such strength and willpower. And how I comprehend such weakness.

Just like the fellow who sits indoors, savouring with strong satisfaction every raining moment under a warm blanket with a warm mug of chamomile in his hands, such is the way we learn to count our blessings and thank God for what we have. We gain knowledge and self-worth by watching a person melt in front of our eyes. We feel better about ourselves when we see others in such a state of pity and such pathos. We feel comforted and self-assured that we are safe within our own skin and in our dwelling when we see how treacherous it is outside. It is selfish. It is disgusting. It is unavoidable. We learn from the mistakes of others and similarly, we learn to keep warm and stay comfortably dry, while we watch the rain outside pour its burdens onto the ground and its inhabitants. That's how humans are, aren't they?

Perhaps cyclically, it's only natural that only with purgation, can there be growth. There is a need to rid oneself of our burdens, and our load in order for us to rest and take on more in the future. Only when we find and have a release, can we let go of our past and move on to become a bigger person. Only with the destructive pouring of the rain on the Sahara's dry, cracked and fragmented plains, will the weed grow from the soil. In the barren wasteland of societal impositions on the kind of person we can or cannot be and how we must act in the presence of others, sometimes all it takes to be happy is to find the tortured soul within and let him go free. Acknowledge that you've become more human in letting your primal and instinctual emotions free.

So yes. That is my take on rain. I know some of you would have already proceeded to other blogs and websites after reading only the first two paragraphs, while there are others who'll read everything and not understand a thing I've said. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that there is rain outside now and it's pouring so heavily that there is no moon nor star in the sky because of the storm clouds looming overhead. All that matters is that a seedling will be given life, and life will blossom when the rain is gone and when the sun shines once again. As it always does.

I'll leave the love poem to another day. The rain is beautiful.