Standing in the rain

The wiper draws semicircles
On the windshield
The drizzle trickles like sweat
To the driver's left
I stand by the front seats
In a mildly crowded Sunday bus
Breezing downtown
Through the empty college road
Now turned a Monet
With the early street lights
Running wavy orange strokes
Down its length.
I watch the tall trees
Tamarind, sleepy-faced and the nameless ones
Looking even more alluring
In the shower.
I look around
For an empty seat
For a better view
Of the familiar sights
In their wet attire.
As no one gets off
I resign myself
To my standee position.
My stop is still some way off
But I cannot complain
For the rain suddenly
Breaks into a dance
On the puddles.