She smiles to herself,
when the drops from the sky
fall to the ground,
as she imagines smiles in the faces of people
with big fields and bigger families
waiting in the sun and hope.

She hears children running
out of their homes
to feel the drops in the palm of their hand
and (fooo) blow them at their friends.
The kids are now in the streets
with the puddles and lowly streams
as they tear the paper from their homework copies
to make paperboats.
Some now become Sinbaad,
while others are happy being unknown pirates
some pretend to fight with swords for their ships
others race through the alley.

The smell of damp earth
fills her up with warmth
even if the air outside is cold
it nurtures her broken soul
her tittered-tattered dreams
she is driven to fight for her life
as the world around her settles down
with the dust, the heat and lives around her.
As it becomes colorful
with raincoat, umbrellas and wellingtons
on the street,
she breathes.
She breathes with people
who finally sighs relief
she breathes with farmers
who jumps with joy
she breathes with tiny croaks
and the clanging of cranes.

So when the drops from the sky
fall into the ground
fastening its pace
through time
I stop myself in Thapathali bridge
and look at her coming back to life
I smile.
I feel alive.


2 thoughts on “Alive.

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