Our Monsoon

Does rarely so happen that it's raining and you're in love.
That it's coming down in lashes,
You can see drops conjoin to form streams in the air
And there's love coagulating like sugar in bits of your flesh

That there's car screeching brakes on sliding shiny wet roads
In 9 o'clock nights
And you are feeling, deeply stringed.
Rooted, loved.

The world ends at your windshield
And home is inside your head

Never, barely ever
Does it happen that the Monsoon,
Brings anything other than tears,
Quiet melancholy, year after year

This time, however
Our past ache seems to have vanished
This June has erased, made pointless
All of our singular drenched walks in the rain

Now when it's thundering outside,
We're nearly orgasmic inside our head.

This time,
There's that lovely umbrella of rainbow colors
One that I always wanted.
And there's you.


Raj said...

somewhere far far away
a constant reminder
of something waiting
to be renewed

TA said...

God bless u! you have to believe that you love is here to stay for all the monsoons to come, now on and you would be loved!!

wildflower said...

I hope. Thanks..needed to hear that from you.

Krish said...

And look the way love works on poetry..hmm...quite a tale that..home is in the head..how I wish!

wildflower said...

Good line that. Love works or not, either way there is the advantage for poetry, of love itself or of the estrangement

en.cee said...

This has to be one of my most fav pieces by you. There is something about rains and the truth of them

wildflower said...


Trust me, it took me time to figure that name out, one in the string of some beautiful pseudonyms.

Ankur said...

I like the sense of promise that this poem conveys. Rain always has something to do with love; too often with lost love and not often enough, with those first flushes of love.

You give me hope :)