MONSOON MANIA

At each blow of the gale wind,
Over the soaking evening skies,
The fresh arrival of monsoon is heard.
No birds flying in the air.
No yachts strolling at sea –
To place their identifying marks.
The true meaning of wind is seen.
Someone’s shouting over a broken window.
The shout gets a faint reply from somewhere.
Just by the way – I ask,
Whose burden are those beggar’s five children?
Whose nearness should they all hug
For warmth and return to dream?
A limping dog affords his share of charity.
The-collared-one, quietly crawls into the tramp’s lap:
To give and receive the reason
To be loved.
Without apparent effort,
All of them have conquered
The fear to live or die –
Something earned from their cursed lives.
The monsoon will pass away,
From one desolate season to another...

For Vibha and Vishal
Mumbai
15th August 2011

Geeta Chhabra


 
Geeta Chhabra Comment Form
Form a link. Comment inside the box below. Your views will be published in a coming edition.
Name:
 
Email:  
Comments: