Tango of the rains

Last night

I stood inside the rains.

People who dreamt, philosophised,

Elusively portraying them as

pictures of change.

They must know

the words of wisdom.

It must be the wind

or, perhaps, the rain.

Either of them slapped me

I remember not.

For, all I knew, I had no room

To protest.

Like a reward

They came

Like a premonition

They could only leave.

I felt caught up

In something I loved,

and hated

in an equal music.

The morning

Lit my half-opened windows.