New Monsoon
New Monsoon
Oasis has dried up.
Words don’t spring forth.
Shrivelled stands the poetree
Seeds of thoughts can’t germinate.
Drought in the mind, a rare kind.
Come the monsoon, with words I can croon.
Drenched will become the earth
For the words in the mind no dearth.
Swirl in the mind pool full of verses
With the verses I shall begin anew
Blossom will the tree full of poetry
