the first things in life are worth remembering. The first silence, the first exchange of looks, the first rain drops after a dry, yet fertile summer days. rains are like angles with wings of desire, never tired of floating from the sky of one heart to another. the rains on a child's eyes, on green leaves and the on window pane. the chattering, blabbering of the drops when it flows through the pipe. the music played by these drops are innocently composed by the grey clouds. the smell of earth when soaked by these drops of innocence is like the aroma of my child's breathing. the crowne eluded the mighty hands of all seasons .... rains have always been compared to love. rains can never be caged, they elope with the matured clouds of emotions... rains on my palm, the feeling the numbs senses, you die so many times in the arms of rains, not to repent the death ......... rain