My crumpled book
and dreary sun;
how I long for a nook.
The blistering heat
and the crows cries
below the street
Rains I miss
and there seems a long wait
for the thunders to flourish
Dry monsoon
I check useless passion
floating on still deck
Humid air;
filled with dust
as they suffocate
and they rust;
whilst they walk
their path to work
and they rust in the midday sun
I loose count
as hours tick
the dry season in doubt
of monsoon rain
and sweat glows
glistens under harsh sun
and rain never flows
© Sejal.G 18 June 2005