Monsoon Season

Torrents of melancholy brine cascade from leaden skies; Mirroring the salty streams of tears that seep from my sapphire eyes; Folded limbs of bruised porcelain reach out to feel the patter of the rain; Each stinging drop a tiny shard of ancient liquid pain; Muddied pools form on a thirsty earth that drinks and drinks and drinks; My own parched heart does nothing but watches, waits, and sinks, sinks, sinks… With the monsoon comes a stultifying death of putrefaction to leaf and bough; Matching the decay that stirs the topsoil of my soul like the blade of a rusty plough; Snails drag their curlicue shells through promising forests of lush mossy growth; Just as slow my sighing breaths sift through my lips uttering silent bitter oaths; The monsoon season is a blessing to the earth and a curse to a trapped soul; Bound by adolescent selfishness I think only of myself not of the whole; Forgetting the urgent thirst of the ground for water I curse the curtaining rain; Staring mutinously into the gloomy grey day with my face pressed against a cold window pane; Rain, rain, I murmur through reproachful lips, go away; And please I entreat you -- return again some other day…