Trees and Doves Don’t Wear Clothes

When was the last time My privates pricked, playfully By the teasing raindrops Splattered by the wind? When was the last time I stood in the rain, nude? As a child? No, mother would have Frisked me away and gave A slap on my bottom too!

Once I stripped on a beach Blushing at my lesser size Than that of the tourist by my side. Played, all dangling, Jumping and rolling, Bewildering unfamiliar freedom. It wasn’t raining then, though.

This summer evening The sky darkened and The wind blew. Treetops swayed, frenzied, And the doves and crows Staggered drunk, in flight. On the high terrace, hidden from eyes I let the wind play with me.

The air-gun shot pellets of rain. Then the gush, the rush and it thundered! The deluge came in sheet after sheet It rained, it rained, it rained! As the drape of raindrops covered me I let my lungi drop away.

Here, in this rain, beneath the sky My friends the trees, dance with me My friends the doves, giggle at me As I stand bereft of clothes My friend the wind, laughs with me.

At nearly fifty, maybe I should know better.