Quotes about monsoon, page 12
Desires Part -2
Yet another night
As I lay awake
Sleepless in desire…
Eyes aching for a
Glimpse of
"me"
In your eyes..
Lips parched
In hunger of
Your mouth.
Arms naked
In want
Of your arms.
Bosom swollen,
Painful against the confines.
This ache, painful..
Yet heady..
Starting at the navel
And spreads
Engulfing everything
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poem by Anjali Kakati
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What If
What if I couldn’t see?
I wouldn’t know how to be.
What if I couldn’t walk?
I wouldn’t be able to go to the park.
What if I couldn’t smell?
I wouldn’t know early monsoon shower smell.
What if I couldn’t feel?
I wouldn’t even know how to heal.
What if I couldn’t taste?
All the gourmet food would go to waste.
What if I couldn’t touch?
I wouldn’t know love as such.
What if I couldn’t cry?
I wouldn’t be able to let go of grief even if I try.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Land To The Tiller
Cracked and clef soil of tolerated native mother
Beaten halo, attacked by the sun
Being friend and enemy to the end
Monsoon rain drops cried tears
Beyond of measure of sufferings keep in heart
Obeying to nature of god the body always brooks
Courageous mind and crooked back life domesticates
Keeping the dream of the beauty and smell of rose
Barren soil turning into fertile
Making dug well wetted over the land
Reaping seeds beget color of green
Mother of native attests through the centuries in time
By the history, for the people
Hostage curse is inherited
By the heart, for own future
To struggle of unjust is unavoidable
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poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Kingdom Of Dawn
Below a cold and paling moon I stand
Half naked, allowing twilight’s spirits to kiss my skin
Lost in the aroma of the morning
Watching shadows stretch the length and breadth of the land.
Into the arena of dawn we stride
Happy in the moment there unwinding.
Smoking black these lungs of mine
Wasted, I’m wasted all the time
Drinking Jack at noon
Running from some monsoon fear of a reality
That never meant much to me,
I find it in the corner of my mind.
In an age of outcasts and outlaws
We are as performing within a circus of shadows
Still shackled within the cave of dull horizons
Seeking to rise, seeking to kiss the sky with our eyes.
She touches herself in the heat of the night
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poem by David Lacey
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How You Left Your Willowy Dress
The monsoon swooned
with a glacial riddance
and I abide the tempest
because in the sifting
I am more alive
than the vertical quietude
of this unrivaled squall
inside the moon's belly
Before she departs
and leave cobwebs
in the silence of the firmament
she whispered a symphonic
lamented augury
and left her willowy dress
sprawled on the shore
of my sleep's phantasms
A saline surrender
lulled a chagrin bell
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poem by Norman Santos
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Indian Dream
The Indian Dream
I saw an Indian princess coming out of a limousine, not
an actress, pretending to be royal. She was dressed in
a sari made of the finest silk that ad been spun eight times
was airy and light as a zephyr. She wore diamond earrings
and necklace of black pearls on her swan like neck,
she looked so aromatic and esoteric had I seen her coming
out of the loo I would have been quite flummoxed.
Eyes downcast, a demure mien she didn’t see me waving
at her, when crossing the street a guard shaded her with
a green parasol. I’m going to India before the monsoon,
I’ll find the princess drive her home to Portugal in
a low-cost Indian car, I will have to install an air condition,
one cannot have a princess transpire, mind, if she did it
would be pearls of sweet honey on her brow.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The lovely land
The sea is sky-blue and the sky, sea-blue.
The earth is coconut-brown and the coconut, earth brown.
The clouds are water-dark and the water, cloud-dark.
The paddy is grass-green and the grass, paddy-green.
The valleys are spice- rich and the spices, valley- rich.
The rivers are lagoon-seeking and the lagoons, river-seeking.
The rubber is wealth-prone and the wealth, rubber-prone.
The culture is art-borne and the arts, culture-borne.
The traditions are style made and the styles, tradition made.
The rich blur with the poor and the poor, with the rich.
Education sweeps like monsoon rain;
Hygiene shines like fountain water.
Pride surges like the Periyar in summer.
The people charm the land and the land, the people.
Men are woman friendly and women, men friendly.
The land is Kerala, lovely, lovely, lovely.
May,2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Chemical Poem... 'Being Away From My Home
Distance; Ain't just a physical term..
It's got me here, provided my decision was firm..
Away From FRIENDS, away from fun..
I'm Smothered here like a monsoon sun..
The petals of flowers is my friend pie,
A petal is cut; I said GoodBye..
The petal's crushed and is being stale
observing every1 enjoying from its mighty hell..
Prior to this, I was there, wasn't so silent..
Befriending Capacity was as carbon, I was tetravalent
I'm neon now, no unpaired electron..
Sitting Right there, I'm Damn alone
So, it's goi'na be the feelings' emission..
BZA sealed; it's an all new collection..
Here being is meant to be a bookworm..
All Alone being away from my home..
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poem by Abhinit Chute
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Night Time
Distant vague voices waking me up when I sleep
Lightening illuminates my heart diving deep
The vibrations of life are my steady attendant
While a hypnotist claims his share with a pendant
Bathing in oceans under the guard of a silver moon
I'm shaking off the weariness of an inert afternoon
The embraces of long dark shadows are inviting
Dreams not yet dreamed are a threat but exciting
Searching shallow surfaces for intimate destinations
New memories visited give reason for interpretations
Listening to the silence and imitating every tune
Deserts turn to liquid welcoming the rains of monsoon
Primordial rituals of darkness assist in transubstantiation
Blood is running faster betraying the body's revelation
Past struggles become new promises while rapidly expanding
Thrills of the night are powerful without misunderstanding
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poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Monsoon Musings
…and on this
cool cloudy monsoon morning
as you strolled at a distant
horizon along the
village bunds and canals
wandered across the
native soil preparing
itself for the next sowing
i opened the door to
a light-hearted wind that veiled me
from the rest of the world
it cast an alluring net
dabbed in the perfume of late
summer flowers soaked in the
damp rain-soaked earth
the endless tidings the waves
of wind whispered
tickled me enough
on the black sky
a lightning that flashed
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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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