The Silence of My Voice

It poured, that day, Not the kind that puncture, Your skin, slightly, Like the injuries, in the shower, You trace, after you make love. But, the ones that, Fall indolently, nonchalantly, Like a quick kiss, inaudible, Amidst the leaning teak high rising sills, The ones, in funny places, On your head, feel cooler. Wind blew that day, Not the kind that jumble, Your hair, wildly, Like a tree, in autumn, Dancing riotously, before its death. But, the ones that,  Whooshes blindly, drunkenly, Like that beautiful, you saw, On the grass that was rather yellower, Wallowing, laughingly, lazily, In the dress which shone brighter than her smile. He smiled that day, Not the kind that spin, Your head, magically, Like the tresses, under the sun, Of that woman, in the red dress. But, the one that, Was slight, and effortless, Like the way, you breathed, From across that table, When his eyes, from his coffee, Buoyed, wickedly, unknowingly, In the light which was c...

Yellow!  Day 5. You can know about the routine  here . So today's confession is about RAIN.  What is your favourite memory of it?  Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO] You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com. OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box. " Some people feel the rain, Others just get wet" - Bob Marley Somewhere in 2006. "Come on. Please. Sirf ek baar." "I hate the place it's becoming out there. No way." "Pleeeeaaaassseeeeee? You find it okay to play football in mud, but are uncomfortable to walk in the rain?" "Arrrggghhh. Woh football hai. Get lost." "Pl...