Mawsim set off from a rainless place;
voice parched on a desert tongue.
Now she lives East strumming oceans
to land, piling up veils, swollen
with silver. First she purrs, lips play
piccolo: jiggling, jangling, dancing
leaves. Her rivulets slide down ebony
avenues, slaking a thirst,
crusty with heat.
Deep from her soul heaves a thousand
voices; thunder claps, enraptured
applause. Bearing a shroud she opens up
heaven, beads of white gold
shoot from its craw. Shadows are gone,
opaque stands still, buildings cry waterfalls,
guttering weeps – pity the beetle, butterfly, bird,
shelters strewn with tumbling surf –
while she slaps panes
like a lover spurned. Encore!
She howls for hour on hour.
Gentle now, she moans her last.
Spent clouds sigh as she turns for home.
Dripping trees honour her, blue skies bow,
knowing tomorrow. She sings eternal.
Note: Monsoon is derived from the Arabic Mawsim, meaning season
This is the first of my two poems for my third OU assignment
Categories: Just Poetry