Koraput 1: Monsoons

The knocks of grey clouds on the hills: sounds loud-

The parched earth looks at the sky longingly,

Music stuck in the throat of the cuckoo,

Seeks to break into the air lovingly.

Scent of coming monsoons would replace soon,

Forgotten fragrance of mango blossoms,

When the air shall taste of freshness of life,

And wake up on old tiles: sleepy balsams.

The reviving touch of sky on the earth,

Shall sprout a million smiles on the green,

As water, sky and air team up to work:

And create life, breaking the heat routine.