Urban Showers (The Other Side of Rain)

Rain.

It's raining again.

People's faces are gray, 

As gray and gloomy

As the lowering clouds;

Their movements

As listless as the anaemic sunlight

Filtering down 

During what barely passes for daytime.

Another rainy day in the city.

Cars speed by,

Heedless of the filthy water

That splashes in their wake.

They're just happy to be on the move.

Eager to get where they're going- 

Quickly.

Rain used to mean a day off:

Relaxing with a bowl of soup,

A warm blanket

And the seranade 

Of drops landing on the roof.

Now, rain is a chore.

It means going out

When you'd much rather

Just stay indoors.

Rain used to be such a happy thing:

It meant puddles to explore,

And childish games played in the downpour,

And naked laughter ringing out

Amid the droplets' pitter patter percussion...

Now the rain is cold.

It feels dirty

When it should be cleansing.

It seems to kill the spirit

When it should be uplifting.

Water is, after all, life.

Or should be.

So goes another rainy day in the city.

Cringing. 

Shuddering. 

Sighing. 

Rushing.

Wishing it would stop.