“You say you love the rain
but you open your umbrella.
You say you love the sun
but you find a shadow spot.
You say you love the wind
but you close your windows.
This why I’m afraid
when you say you love me.”
— William Shakespeare
The rain is a rhythm of peace tapped out against the land in ripples of mercy.
People tell me they love the rain but then curse when they forget their umbrellas. They complain of their wet clothes and get frustrated at the traffic, telling me that “the sound of the rain is soothing” and “the sight of the rain is pleasing,” while muttering under their breath.
If the rain were to seep into my skin, it would find a home in my soul.
Swaying branches of empty longing bury seeds of desperate growth. Parched rivers of distant lands rejoice in silent gratitude as long-awaited mercy pours forth from the heavens in abundance.
They dance in elation and stretch in contentment; they have no voice to mutter with, yet they bear the fruits of their devotion without constraint.
If they had lips, they would not complain.
I look at the apple tree silently bending in the wind, its dull, brown branches still adding life to a garden that holds a million and more memories. In a few months it will blossom green and white; then it will weigh heavy with its gratitude, boughs low with green spheres.
Nobody will mutter under their breath then, when the fruits of the heavens’ downpour dribble nectar down their chins and burst flavors on their tongues.
They will forget about the rain which allowed the fruits to grow, and they will forget the love they lied about on those rainy days, because the shining sun is all they want to feel against their skin.
The sun is a blanket of warmth wrapped around the land in loving rays of happiness.
People tell me they love the sun but then curse when they forget their hats. They complain of their sweaty clothes and get frustrated at the traffic, telling me that “the warmth of the sun is relaxing” and “the sight of sunshine is pleasing” while muttering under their breath.
If the sun were to seep into my skin, it would find a home in my heart.
Dragging branches of ripe satisfaction, bursting flowers of vibrant life, and full rivers of distant lands rejoice in silent gratitude as long-awaited happiness shines down from the heavens in abundance.
They dance in elation and stretch in contentment; they have no voice to mutter with, yet they gift the fruits of their devotion without reservation.
If they had lips they would not complain.
I look at the apple tree noisily knocking in the wind, its bright green-and-white adornments adding life to a garden that holds a million and more memories. In a few months it will flare orange and brown; then it will lighten in relief, boughs high as leaves drift to the ground.
I like the smell of freshly washed clothes hanging in the house, and I like the sight of them billowing on the clothesline outside. I like drinking hot chocolate and eating freshly-fried doughnuts while walking along the beach in the rain, and I like scooping the flesh out of a honey mango full of ice cream and drinking iced coffee while reading a book in the garden on a hot summer’s day.
I like burning candles on dark rainy evenings in February, and I like going on walks during late sunset afternoons in July.
My soul is a home for the rain, and my heart is a home for the sun.
For a complaint to slip from my lips is a denial of the mercy pouring down from the skies and the happiness reflecting on the seas. There is no hope for a bitter heart to love with ease, or a weary soul to smile with peace, so the next time someone tells me they love the rain, I may look for an umbrella in their bag. If they tell me they love the sun, I may wonder if there’s a hat hidden in their car. When they tell me they love me, I may wonder if there really is a home in their heart and soul for me to stay inside.
Alisha Umar has a deep thirst for knowledge and a beautiful appreciation for learning. She spends hours pondering over her recent reads, researching for her own stories and scouring every inch of the library. When she’s not engrossed in her books or posting on her social media she can be found spending quality time with her friends and family, engaging in meaningful debates with her loved ones, taking down the next food destination on her bucket list and fantasising about which places she wants to travel to next- whether fictional or real. You can find her on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube @authoralishau
