At times, I stand under the shower for minutes just feeling the thuds of the drops oozing out from the shower. I feel them producing music by pulling on the toned muscles of my face, finding its way through my nested hair, mixing with the salt water of my eyes. The water seems to be in a state of tension for it yearns to be with the love of its life. It suffers the heat of the scorching sun, the chill of the night stored in a cage at the pinnacle of the building. It patiently waits to come down and meet its love. Who says love is easy! At times, it has to swirl around in a plastic chamber with dirty sweaty clothes. It doesn’t complain takes in everything within itself all the dirt, the stains of ketchup, the harsh detergent, the essence of the perfume and the smear of the dark lipstick. In semi-automatic lockups, its suffering is less as the torture usually stops in twenty to twenty five minutes. The automatics are a curse from the rich. Here, its self contempt, for the long hours it has to bear with the smelly socks and sweaty gym costumes. But, unlike the false promises of the elderly special citizens, they do reach their love after a free fall through the dirty dark soggy pipes to the even darker drains. The jubilation is ecstatic; they don’t speak. She understands his sufferings and promises to hide him below her where he can flow freely. They spend a few days together clinging to each other as she filters all the sufferings and attain his purity.
At other times it carries the left over’s from the plates along with it or even goes into an even interesting journey down the throats of people. It blushes to admit but the path it loves to take the most is through the shower. The shower provides a sense of freedom, a thrust which it has yearned for so long sitting in the tank. It loves the feeling of passing over those naked beautiful bodies knowing all their desires and thoughts .The feeling to feel the real person behind the closed doors of the bathroom free from any inhibitions. After dripping on the floor, it enjoys the hangover like a murderer knowing no one will ever know the crime and its brilliance.
Now, with this awareness I shower a bit longer these days, enjoy the symphony drink it. The symphony has an enthusiasm, the chivalry of young lovers dancing wildly to its tunes. It carries with it the somber, the worries, the heat and the pain; an elegy to the worldly routine. It gives me pleasure of easing the journey of the lover to its beloved. Yet, as with every pleasure comes the pain of wasting the precious water:(
“Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
O sweet content!
Swimm’st thou in wealth, yet sink’st in thine own tears?
O punishment! ” T.Dekker
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