Poetry of the day

Monsoons

When it does arrive , skies fill

up with passing armadas of dark

clouds . It rains day and night ,

starting off birds , earthworms ,

frogs , snakes , ants , and such.

Clogs drains , floods roads ,

slows traffic .

Urban children are allowed

to play wet cricket , badminton.

In the evenings clouds halt :

towering massifs in purple skies,

lit up airplanes to Dubai slink by;

coolness comes after long months.

Monsoons` old repertoire ;

and I am to be awed into stillness

like a peasant or a pheasant.

Fuck monsoons .

Life is not all about renewal;

mostly it is winding down,

or just wearing away .