It was a drizzling that day, when I stood before the mighty Niagara Falls.
Some felt the rain, while others stood, their umbrellas so out of context against the awesome panorama of majesty, that was Niagara.
My umbrella was of pain. I cried like I had never before, I cried for the loss of a brother, friend, sibling. I cried for the distance that separated us. I cried for I knew I would never ever have the chance to be with him again.
I, my heart closed to serenity, watched with numbed silence. The waters, however, they fell in thunderous descent. The rapids below were awakened by each drop of the falling, unceasingly, evoking a pandemonium of whiplash and torrent.
I, caught in a drizzle, was caught even more in the spraying of those meteoric waters that escaped the clutches of the transient descent far below.
But then, the drizzle eased after a while, my tears it whispered was contained in the waters that dripped from my face, to fall flat on the green pad of grass, some shifting against the wet breeze, leaning against the strength of the timeless rocks that overlooked the falls.
My tears were carried far into an abyss of troubled waters.
It was ironic – beauty and pain. Most times they go together. There is no beauty without pain. Pain becomes meaningless in the face of beauty. Pain can be the shift between beauty and forbearance.
It held my attention, like telling me, look I will stop the rain, and bring out the rainbow, so you can one day tell the world, that your tears were mingled with rain once, and when my tears ceased, at the beckoning of the rain, I saw the rainbow strewn across the bluest sky, now clear of the clouds that brought forth the rain.
The waters fell in a mirage of colors, I think not needed – those imposed colors I mean. Nature has its own colors enshrined. The beauty was ethereal, the waters, the rain, the sky, the rainbow.
The rainbow colored the sky that day, so much like it was saying, my brother watched me as he crossed the world to the other side.
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