Dark clouds on the horizon, and the leaves get lighter
A strong blast, and a rustle
Big black balloons in the sky, some silver linings.
Obliteration of the orb, drop in temperatures
And the sky is hungry, as it rumbles and grumbles
My flowers tell each other in whispers, to be prepared
A dark grey hand holds the sky, the fist getting bigger.
The blue patches run away, as if afraid.
Big bottom tear drops splatter and splash.
The wind leaves some on my window sill.
I stand still under the sky,
feeling the drops play join the dots on me.
Soaked to the skin,
and not shivering for a change.
I return, with the rain on me,
and the thought of the Indian monsoon in my mind.
The smell of rain on dry dust in my heart.