Who is dancing into the night?

A Darling Monsoon, There.

Step out into that right time of the evening and a rain-soaked breeze embraces you. Life slows down on such nights. An occasional vehicle headlight lits up the trail of water droplets on the window - someone must dance on such nights, swaying to the slowest fingers on the piano.

It is with a conflicted heart, you travel the night rain. You, who finds numerous ways to be annoyed by the pulse of the city during the day, fall for its charms now. "Where have you been, where have you been?"

You glide on neon roads. The carpets of light hold the rain in their hearts. 

(I have written about rain before, here.)