The gift

'You told me once
That you would gift me your longest poem
In an evening when the sky would take
The colors of the new bride, remember?'
She said wistfully...

'Yeah...'
I replied which sounded like a whiff of air,
Passing by uneventfully, like the breeze of summer;

'Brought it?'
She asked, with all eagerness;

'Nope...'
'Nah? why? then? why have you come back?'
She asked,
Her voice trailed
And soon got drowned in the rustle of leaves
And, I looked at the western front, red;

'The storm is brewing...we should get back...'
I murmured...
'No! I want the gift!'
She stamped her feet hard on the ground
And I thought, I heard a  little girl's sobs, somewhere ;

I looked at her eyes...
Her beautiful, large, tearful eyes,
And felt so helpless...

'There will be another day...'
I tried to soothe her...

She remained silent,
Looking at the western sky,
Where the red met the black...

The wind rose, finally,
Not like a raging bull striking terror,
But the music graded perfect,
From the soft  kind of a tremble,
To the bellowing one,
Spreading the Gift all over...

'Hey! Got it!'
I cried out loud, impromptu,
Running to hold her from behind;

'I'm the sky,
My love!
I'm the drops of water-
Shot at you from all angles!
I'm the chill
Running through your wetness!
I'm You!'
I shouted
Holding her on my flooded self...

And soon it rained,
Horribly....

Blinding us,
Enveloping us,
Burning us...

It rained for hours,
So white and so pure!