Biswadarshan Mohanty: ‘Rainy Day’

Rainy Day

once I saw a water snake
skimming across the puddle
collected on shingle
in my schoolyard.
it meandered towards a hedge
around the grotto …
perhaps, it was heading home.

I had jumped off a school bus
with a splash.
my shoes had squish squashed
through the gate,
slushed across the puddle
onto a veranda guarded by rails.

I dashed
towards the adjacent building
towards our classroom
that was sandwiched between
panels of glass panes—
four lines of desks and benches
sliced through the room.

I moulted my raincoat,
and smelt of rubber and sweat.
we were three or four out of fifty, and
we sat soaking wet, waiting for the clock to strike nine
and to be soaked in the day’s lessons.
meanwhile, a boy sat beside a Spiderman bag and
wrung his socks to death.

someone came running into the classroom,
“classes are cancelled…it’s a rainy day.”

despite my squealing socks and shoes,
I ran
without my raincoat …
skimming across the puddle,
meandering, leaving the grotto and its hedge behind
I was heading home.

Biswadarshan Mohanty