The Story of the Rain

by Sushanth Shyamsundar

Image credit: Todd Trapani on Unsplash

Part 1. Lightning

Till the day it ends,

Late past the night,

On the rocky shores,

Dancing by the moonlight.

We go up to dance,

In the rain,

The pleasure’s all mine.

In the swift,

Autumn breeze,

There’ll be no morning.

Sleep beside me,

As the night passes on,

Try to understand,

That our love stands strong.

Take my hand and lead me over,

To the floor of silver mist.

So sweet, so beautiful,

The waves on a rocky shore.

And we march, and we dance,

Into the night.

Under the sea, over me,

We pass on and scream for light.

Under the sea, dance with me,

Stay for the night.

Part 2. The Calm

Come back into my life,

Show me the way to heaven again,

This storm will pass, my ship will sail,

Through the rain, I’ll bear the pain.

The road is clear, my soul is free,

Think of you, a golden tree,

There’s nothing here, a desert sea,

Waiting for you, to see me.

Love and peace surround us all,

All grown up, but I’m just a girl,

Tell me your secret, whisper to me,

Sometimes I need to hear your voice.

As the leaves fall to the open ground,

I feel your love spread all around,

Grant me the strength to carry on,

Take me into your open heart.

Surround me with your love.

I miss you every day,

Where did you go?

Where can I find you?

Help me out of my jail,

Stay with me every day,

Walk with me, we’ll walk together, and

All together we’ll sail away.

Part 3. Whisper

The night is wonderful,

Together we are again,

Nothing can keep us apart,

Oh Louise, Tonight is ours.

So much to say to you,

We have but one night,

Do not forget me; please, do not run away,

I am here now, let us dance as we did,

Let the wind carry my message to you,

I shall descend in the dead of night.

I am sorry, my love, I haven’t said a word,

Something I have left unsaid,

I didn’t want to leave you alone,

Selfish was I to have left as soon as I did,

Sadness and depression were not excuses,

I know that now, I have learned.

Forgive me, my love,

I never stopped to think about you,

Never forget, never doubt,

I love you, and I will come to you tonight.

Part 4. The Rain’s Eye

Trickled down her face,

Like dew drops on a flower,

She loves to love,

Men do adore her.

She moves like a siren,

As dark as the night,

Her hair like a veil,

She waits for it to come.

Looks like an angel,

Acts like a God,

Break her fall,

When she tries to jump.

Jumping through that covered bridge,

Hope to find true love again,

Day and night, waiting,

She’ll stay out forever.

Then it breaks, and her wait is over,

She runs, abounds, spirits befall her,

But she is happy,

The rain has come again.

Part 5. The Wake

The day has ended, the night is near,

The sun has set; please sleep, my dear,

The moon shines, and throws its light,

Unto the world so bright.

With all the world at a close,

No one stirs, not even those,

The ones who sit and wait,

For the stars to come crawling by.

When the night comes creeping up,

The earth must feel like closing up,

Around the tears of joy,

That surround our life.

At a close the moon will rise,

The night is new, and it brings to life,

All that never rests as long as

There’s you and I.

Summer heat and autumn’s sweat,

Tear around through winter’s belt,

The day is ours,

The night is worth living.

And we sleep together, hand in hand,

By the river, in our land,

The house we built on the river bend,

Under the clouds, we are in our rain.

The wind shall carry our voices,

The clouds will surround us,

Sleep, my baby, like a doll,

Sleep in my arms, as you have slept before,

I will be here always, by your side,

Live your life, and dream a song,

A song that never ends so long,

As our story goes on and on.

***

Sushanth Shyamsundar

Sushanth Shyamsundar is an Indian writer and poet based in Chennai. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Amsterdam Quarterly, The Write Launch, Amethyst Review, and elsewhere, and his poem “What the Field Kept” won the 2026 Art on the Trails Poetry Prize. He performs spoken word as Rakshasan, a masked alter ego built for the stranger, louder, and more mischievous corners of his writing. He is the founder of Rakshasan Media.