feathers dipped in
sky lie by the side
of a sandy road,
clouds slathered
in red mud tread
across the twilight
hour, in the glass
window of a parked
car, there is a stir of
flight as a jungle crow
swoops down over a
dead mouse; a young
girl smelling of scented
flowers passes by, softlike the rains last night
monsoons
'rain' in watercolors humid weight of stillness accompanies me as i sit on the porch; trumpeting of faraway peacocks makes its way across the scattered shadows of floating clouds. A sudden gust of wind rushes through the iron gate, toppling over a few cashew branches, and jangling the house into discomposition. It carries with it a whiff of petrichor and the promise of rains...however, one cannot rely on its over-zealousness anymore. For lately, many an impassioned storms have passed us by...teasingly Determined, I sit through the destructive squall, my eyes closed tight to shut out the dust. Prepared to be hit by a loosed branch or a an airborne pebble, today, the being is resolved to abandon itself to the auguries of Nature... may be to invoke the blessings of the downpour that red earth in all its auric entity seeks and seeks some more. 'Rain', a poem by Jack Gilbert swerves onto the memory lane and sets an indolent mind on 'cruise' mode. While rain for G...
Comments