Being Women

The Downpour

A poem on monsoon

The downpour was heavy, so was my heart:

Gleeful yet restive, what an abstruse art!

The petrichor palpably cued in the charm;

With unabated longing, I doodled your name on my palm;

The hullabaloo so euphoric, might make you laugh:

My soul was on tenterhooks, missing its better half.

The downpour was heavy, so was my being,

With the tapers flickEr, my hopes were sinking;

All round the year, no fiesta made me jovial,

Today was my day, seeing you-my festival;

The cake was baked, savouries all cooked,

Roses adorned the door, where my eyes were hooked.

The downpour was heavy, so was my fervent yearn

The art of living without you, I could never learn;

The knock on the door, thump on my heart,

I felt insubstantial and so ripped apart:

I wanted to scream and shed all my pain,

And the ecstasy of seeing you, I could not contain;

And then into your embrace, my tears doused your drenched chest;

Giving solace to me, and my jittered soul some rest.


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