The Monsoon

By Nirmala R A

Thirsty throats, parched ponds, Count on days, Of the waning rays; Snooze inside the mistic quilt, surrender blue, dear shabby sky; Stolen stars, yet glaring bolt; with the banging Roar, you fall for me!!

The minute you touch my splinter skin!! we dope this globe,

with our perfumed breeze;

Here and now,

Rhythm the shower -

As late as, I sip you deep!!!

Just then, one morrow wakes...!

Green carpet on the naked trees,

Birds compose and the peacock dance,

Once, the holy dew - touches man,

He'll think of us,

with a cup of tea!

By Nirmala R A