His Masterpiece...

I had been wondering about the Creator. His fluid masterstrokes that bring about the essence of childhood, the fragrance in flowers, and all that is so profound in the name of poetry. But then, childhood wanes and fragrances fail to intoxicate. Even poetry falters to move. And the forgotten leftover is the abyss that seeks refuge under the dwelling of nature, onto the lap of the Creator. For it is Him, who thrives in the midst of drenched meadows and rainfed rivers. And trickles onto our land through the midrib of a leaf. Truly enough, if the world is the Creator's canvas, rains have been His masterpiece.