I sit gazing at the bruised branches
Of trees that wall my humble thatch.
Leaves dead and live laments,
Tender mango sprouts,
Like yellow granules of cake dough,
Lie listening the last drops’ descent.
Pale hairy roots of young trees,
A shattered sparrow’s nest,
The bowing branch full of guava
Fruits yellow and green,
Blessed basil leaves with tiny
Silver pearls clean and pure
Sets the morn’s golden glory;
Proclamation of a nocturnal rain.