Monday, March 5, 2012

First drops of monsoon on a lazy afternoon in Assam (Circa 1994)


It looks like the Master
Has suddenly decided
To turn the world into a painting.
The distant hills,
Are a darker shade of blue
The trees in the garden,
A more vibrant hue of light green
The neighbours’ tin roofs,
Greyer than steel
The football field across the road,
Straight out of an artist’s sketch pad.

That’s when the first drop of monsoon hits my face.
I look up.

In the back-ground, I hear Mother shriek:
“Get the clothes, the mattress, the quilt!”

4 comments:

  1. I can almost smell the rain,beautiful imagery. cool!!!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hey Lolo, I like the poem. The sense of what you want to say is portrayed I think, although who really knows what a poet wants to say :) Anyway, I think the images can be sharpened by editing (deleting, changing) some words.
    Sorry for critically commenting, but what's a comment that does not add to the post? If you read my poems, I would also like you to criticise :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. @James

    Of course! I would be absolutely delighted if I found a critique in you. :)

    Will try doing the same for you too!

    ReplyDelete

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