Drying clothes and frolicking children were snatched out of the downpour.The sudden rain had bruised the earth and ousted its fragrance,buts its onset was less than appreciated.The hustle and bustle made the house look like a panicking infant.But I was upstairs.
She was stone still.Her tears did not gush out but languidly flowed down like molten iron.I even thought I saw her skin steaming,as the drop scorched down the bulge of her cheek. I was seven,leaning against the newly polished door-frame.I walked up till there hearing this,for the soul may cry silently but it is the most deafening.
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