After the Rain by Amit Parmessur

Tup. Tup. Tup.

*

The sound would go on outside as I sat and

devoured the beauty of her innocent face and svelte body.

The best time ever was always after the rain,

with our garden roses as if reanimated with new watercolor.

*

We could both sense the ecstasy of the tall trees, with

their usually dusty leaves relishing solemnly

another life and splendor after the sparkling rain.

*

We loved the harmonious chirping of the cacophonic birds,

the busy snails moving here and there in our yard

with impunity and the thick smell of the wet ground.

*

After the rain we would always admire the nearby river,

playing in the wet grass, oblivious to the fishes

reassembling their kids and kinds in the agitated waters.

*

Tup. Tup. Tup. Tup.

*

That’s the sound she would childishly make while

returning home, talking of how the road had obtained

a new skin, ready to be whipped by new agony.

*

Now, whenever it rains, I relive those sweet moments

by the bleeding rickety window, like an ambivalent toad,

all alone during and after the colorless rain.

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Aged 28, Amit Parmessur hails from the gorgeous island of Mauritius. Despite limited opportunities in his country he has worked hard to polish his poetry. He has been published in over 40 magazines since starting to submit his poems late 2010. Burnt Bridge, Calliope Nerve, Carcinogenic Poetry, Clutching at Straws, Damazine, Dead Poets, Heavy Hands Ink, Leaf Garden Press, LITSNACK, Puffin Circus, Shot Glass Journal, The Camel Saloon, The Houston Literary Review, The Literary Burlesque and The Scrambler are some of the places in which he has appeared. He currently edits The Rainbow Rose.

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Editor’s Note: Please continue praying for Bennett.