Painting rain

I want to paint the rains today. Away from the bustle of work for a few days, I am here in my sanctuary with my palette of colours. They paint pictures or poetry... what is the difference anyway? Painting the rains is painting the cold fine spray of water through the grilled door shutting out the night. Painting the soft glow of the amber table lamp with a scene from the Ramayana painted on the cream shade in many colours. Painting the innocence of a little child pleading to play in the water. Painting love.

My colours have created a swirl of amber, light pink and green on white paper. I tire of the effort. I tire because I want to scoop them with my hands and wear them on my heart, but I can't do that. I tire because I cannot show them to anyone. I tire because I am attempting something I can never achieve. I tire because I cannot bring those rains back. So I leave it unfinished, unspoken like a handclasp severed when you least expect it...