Monsoon's Offspring

I do have memories.
I sure do, I have destroyed them, rebuilt them,
And destroyed them again.
Yet the phoenix rises from my heart to sing it’s beautiful
Song, on a rainy day of monsoon.


The rhythm of the rain had sung its lullaby for me,
As I was born in monsoon.
I never heard my mother’s voice.
Her body was cold, but her blood was
warm on me when

It were the new born touch me not of monsoon,
That taught me the fragility of nature,
Futility of life.
Innocence , which left me ,
Was so tender as of those touch me not.

It was the smell. The arrival of monsoon.
That conspired to whisper, the word I conjured for her
“Forever yours”
The evening that was drawn in grey made us cry.
We walked in the rain.

The sky turned creamy black
And the birds were heading back.
It was at that moment I remembered ,
I too need to head back. Monsoon was coming.
My attic will leak, fungi green will eat up my wall.

Wasps were flying from the damp ground,
Circling the yellow bulb under which,
My father was laid still and erect.
I understand that, monsoon took his life to
Give some others a new one.


I have memories.
I sure do, I destroyed them, rebuilt them,
And destroyed them again.
For the phoenix to rise from my heart to sing its beautiful
Song on a rainy day of monsoon.

From the window of my death bed I can see
Rain pouring into the brown river.
And down the memory lane, everything,
I had felt and every thing I was, It was because of monsoon.

Now, I would like to name me as Monsoon’s Offspring.