What a cruel trick of nature, landed me with such a squall
God knows how long I’ll defy rain without my brolly with me
Familiar odors mixed and
Drops dappled the glass
Four or five parked by the way
Popped the hood/boot and
Dressed for the worst
Then the sun peeked through
To the exasperation of all
Who greeted its rays
With passionate gestures and
Window panes rail valiantly against relentless pelting, trembling, before the wind grasps them tightly and nails them shut.
Laundry dance in the courts, bowing and dipping on the clothesline, clothes pegs straining wildly.
Wispy smoke wrestles the heavy, damp air, and gripping each other in strangleholds, yet the storm wrenches it out of its joint, and prevails.
The land is hit with a fit of vapours, and the weary wash out of the torrent.
The trees bend over backward for the sloping, whipping rain. Here, monsoon is king.