Rain in Kampala

[I wrote this yesterday. Today, Sunday, it is a very beautiful sunny morning. Though, as I speak, there is a hint of water in the air. Soon, it might rain. Just wanted to share this with you out there!Its raining.A warm, slow rain.Was raining when I woke up. My lovers warm body was too tempting. Too tempting by half. So, set off almost late for the morning. It was a drizzle then, but once out, I could see the dark thunderclouds to the east and I knew it was going to rain. Just prayed I would be able to get to work before the heavens opened up.And they have, when I was already at work.Rain over Kampala.The sun is a favorite season, with the heat, and the brightness, and the sheer sense of light all around. But the rain is also a favorite season. True, the roads become ribbons of red mud, and we have to pick and choose where we step. The light is lost, and the overcast is usually heavy. But, usually, it does not last that much, which is a fantastic thing. Yet, when it is raining, the gentle drops on the roads, the splash of water as the vehicles go by, everything. It is a beautiful season.--Poetry, to me, is a wish, a desire, an itchTo take the world around mePut it in words-Not immortal, not transcendental,Just wordsThat will lift from the spirit of the momentWrap in words to communicate;Take muse's guidanceAnd make it sparkle and spin in words. Take the day, today-Grey skies, pregnant and heavy, releasing rain;The mist of the morning, drizzle that will not let up, Making so many of us, Kampalans Uncomfortable with the, unusual wetness; It is a bane And a boon- Muse's stirred, and listens To the movement of the earth,The faint stirring of the waters, though it be far off. There's something in the air that I would put in words Something in the skies, the dark clouds, the heavy mist The traffic on the roads, the splash of rain on the streets;The squish and squelch of water underfoot-Common, common things But nothing is more uncommonThan me being here, listening to it, with the heart, the mind open. Even my soul listens To the mood of the moment- Sombre ecstasy, the power of living, that of breathing- There's something in the rainAnd the skies, and the mood-The heavy cars, rushing peopleThere's something beneath, that has muse stirring.©GayUganda 20 September 2008