monsoons
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 Gilbert was a source of great sadness, for the people of this land, it has always translated into a pursuit of coolness, of joy, and of liberation however fleeting.
So, I write my own:
suddenly this intoxication
this rain
stars gone astray
sky turned rogue
leaves loosed
from claws of trees
now wheeling off
drink this coolness
feel it trickle
down the soul
run down the path
out the gate
to embrace this
delight
which is you
i have been hard
on myself
too long...
too familiar with
ramblings
sadness has been a habit
Now
suddenly
this unleashing
this rain...
(That evening it rained for five hours straight)
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