I Love The Monsoon

I love the monsoon,

It justifies my contemplation,

The grey colours of my thought,

Throwing psychedelic colors

On a soul that wants to listen,

And stop talking.

 

I bargain its silence,

With the spineless teardrops,

Slaves to the runaway muses

Of every beggar poet.

 

The unloved soul stirs not an emotion,

Lest the prism of thought

Should throw rainbows on

Shifting sands,

And thus I fashion peace,

Within halls of thunder.

 

I love the monsoons,

The cool kisses of the winds,

That brought eager battle-tanks,

A city dissolved and decimated,

My capricious eye the matchmaker,

That finds every defeated outpost

Within the mind's make,

Equally desolate and diffident,

Laid to waste by storms seasons past --

Storms beyond my control.