RED RAINS

It rains when good people die.

The skies are crying, they say.

Lamenting the death

Of those

Who should have been there

for this year’s monsoon

It rains so that the blood of innocent beings

so insanely shed

can be washed away

and the earth be cleansed

of the marks it bore

of daggers and fire and pellets

in the name of religion and region

and outraging vandalism.

So that those left behind

can cry in silence

Hide their tears in the rainwater

Their screams in the thunder.

They say, it rains

when the bodies under the earth have piled up.

With the rains, it is said,

the souls rise up to float away.

And when you look at the clouds bidding adieu

 Often, you wave at them and smile,

The dead smile back at you.

That second, for once,

 your face lightens up.

It rains when good lives end.

Why do you think it is raining

so hard this year?

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