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