The frog croak

The sky appears ominous, dark with clouds... heaven peeps in through cracks in the heavy grey wall... the trees sway in the wind... the air pregnant with expectation... the world is waiting... In the distance, a frog's far off croak, a clumsy, lone, unpleasant croak... And then the tumbling cascade of rain... heaven descends to earth in that moment... The eternal music of the rain drops, the purging of the Earth's soul, the moist kiss of the breeze. These are the perceptions that a frog croak stir in me. For me a frog croak is always accompanied by memories of the monsoon and the laughter of childhood, the long hours of wait for the rain and the inexplicable joy when it finally begins. Its green and grey and an indescribable rainbow shaded memory.

My writing too is like a frog croak- a clumsy, lone, ugly attempt at creating something beautiful. I look at it the same way I perceive the frog croak. It too is delved deep in memories, in sense perceptions and transient emotions. It is about rain and clouds of a different kind. This blog is an attempt to give voice to that croak, a step to overcome the awareness of its coarseness, to stand on a hill on a moonlit night, croak away into the silence and hope and wait for rain...