the hot summer breeze,
the sweaty, rusty bodies,
the dirt filled roads,
and the brown sheath all over,
the pregnant wait for respite,
the thirst for the flow,
much like a mother's anticipation,
the weather toils us hard,
the small silly poems that we learn,
the enforced joy that we never feel,
for the weather that doesn't change
in spite of our many pleas,
the two months that we long for,
quickly turn into boredom,
and suddenly we long to be,
amongst the concrete breeze,
the play, the trips and the wait,
passes by like a glimpse,
and soon we are shopping,
for umbrellas, boots and more,
come the first grey cloud,
and expectant eyes scan the sky,
from the old to the new,
everyone stakes their buy,
soon enough we hear the sound,
the rumble of the clouds,
and pit-pat comes the drop,
dripping on the grounds,
running astray are many children,
few of whom are afraid,
most of them leap with joy,
for the rains are finally here to stay,
soon enough the sheath,
turns to green from the brown,
and into smiles from the frowns,
emotions bloom and get aroused,
and the love sets into the mind,
the monsoon comes and
takes the weather literally by storm,
and the lives of all tenderly wait,
patiently for the wintery nights...
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