Dragonflies in the Rain

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 The first monsoon drop, a whisper on my pane,

Calls back Yamuna—her cool, dark breath of rain.

Her essence fills the humid Vrindavan air,

A primal rhythm stirring old despair.

She came like storm, a wild and fierce desire,

That taught my heart to ache with burning fire.

Her voice, unspoken, in the drumming sound,

A melody of pain on hallowed ground.


Then softens rain to gentle, persistent grey,

And Radha blooms—the light of waking day.

Her quiet strength, a prayer in finest silk,

A steady gaze, like sweet and calming milk.

With Yamuna, passion’s consuming art,

With Radha, profound peace embraced my heart.


My soul, a dancer, poised on fragile thread,

Between the moonless night and dawn’s soft bed.

One yearned for wild, untamed and deeply vast,

The other sought the certainty to last.

In fleeting moments, caught in their distinct gaze,

I felt entirely whole in love’s sweet maze.

Yet mist-like, both, in their own ways, took flight,

And vanished softly into endless night.


When the rain begins to fall,

I hear their names in every drop—

A rhythm soft, a breathless call,

That time or fate could never stop.


A rainbow arcs when heavy showers cease,

A painted memory, bringing brief release.

And then the dragonflies, on wings so sheer,

Not insects, no, but messengers drawing near.

They trace in air, a silent, soft refrain,

That not all goodbyes mean eternal pain.

Each delicate beat, each graceful, sweeping line,

Whispers of love, enduring and divine.


On moss-laced tracks, where longing’s shadows wait,

A distant laugh, a scent from fading date,

A Messenger from past I cannot hold,

A story whispered, beautifully untold.

I chase the storms, not fearing their loud might,

But seeking answers in their chaotic light.

Why does it linger, this sweet, persistent ache?

For love’s deep mysteries, my soul will break.


And still, each year, the dragonflies return,

Their iridescent wings in Vrindavan burn.

A constant echo, soft, and ever true,

That love’s no flame that burns and then is through.

No, love for me is like the falling rain—

Endless, life-giving, easing every pain.

Always present, endlessly it falls,

Because of them, answering my soul’s calls—

Because of Yamuna, because of Radha still,

The echoes of their love my spirit fill.

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