When the Rain Returned

The sky had practiced silence
for many summer weeks,
its blue face cracked
with heat and waiting.

Then one afternoon
without announcement,
clouds gathered
like old relatives
returning to a forgotten home.

The first drop struck the dust
and the earth answered
with fragrance.

Windows opened.
Children shouted.
Trees straightened their backs.
Even tired buildings
seemed less ashamed of age.

I stood beneath the balcony roof
watching roads become rivers,
watching strangers smile
for no reason at all.

Rain has this power—
to make the city remember
it was once soil,
to make the heart remember
it was once soft.

Your name arrived too,
not as pain
but as something gentler,
like thunder far away
that does not frighten.

I let the storm remain.
Some things must fall
before they can bloom again.

By evening, puddles held
small pieces of sky.
And I, who had carried
months of dryness inside me,
felt suddenly green.