The Touch of Rain: A Body's Poem

Rain is never just rain. It is nature's most ancient lover. When the first drops touch my shoulders, I feel my skin awaken. This isn't coldit's a greeting. Every droplet is a tiny tongue whispering: "You are still alive." And as the water streams down my chest and stomach, I feel my body respond. That stiffness, that tensionit's not a spasm. It's an answer. Like a flower opening to the first ray of sun, my body blooms under the touch of the sky. In that moment, there is no MS. No illness. There is only: The dance of droplets on skin The tremor of life echoing through my muscles The dialogue between me and the storm This stiffness is my body singing. It sings a song older than disease, older than civilization. A song whose verses are: wind in the hair water on the thighs earth under the soles of the feet And as I stand naked in the downpour, I feel my body becoming a bridgea bridge between sky and earth, between human and element, between sickness and life. The rain does not fall on me. It caresses me. And my body answers in the only way it knows howwith complete, honest, passionate existence.