your naughty mood
impels the naughty strands
of hair on your fore head
to play with my face
raised upwards to your lips.
silently i watch the
breath getting quicker
until
the thousand monsoons
decide to bathe the earth,
and
the silent banyans
of the land scape
acquise
not to raise a storm without,
for
the storm within is becoming
unmanageable.
..atp..
09.04.2008.
samyak jain
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-monsoon-song/
