Quotes about monsoon, page 2
As the Monsoon Recedes
Besides the heady fragrance
Of the wet earth,
Freashly bathed green trees,
(Evoking images of a damsel
stroking her wet tresses)
Garden weeds,
And the sound of the rain
Music to my ears, after
Scorching summer,
Dust storms and hot winds.
I loved the
Croaking of the frogs.
After dusk fall
Twinkling fireflies.
The call of the Cicadas,
Although a bit
Eerie at night.
I would exclaim
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The First Rain of Monsoon
In the month of May
The Summer does sway
The first rain of Monsoon
The drizzling started very soon
The weather is so pleasing
In the evening
The breeze is blowing
the leaves are hovering
At the tender touch of rain drops
Rain is good for upcoming crops
The nature get rejuvenated
Spirit of living life elevated
Water in the form of rain
Never goes in vain
Whether India, England or Spain
People wish rain to come again
Pouring in the valleys, raining in the plain
The thirsty Earth values the rain
After the rain sky is clear
The shining leaves become dear
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poem by Shashikant Nishant Sharma
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Monsoon
Storm clouds are overhead as there is a monsoon,
but no need to despair because we’re over the moon,
all the running and fighting in the street,
stops because the angels have begun to weep,
their tears falling and splashing at our feet,
people then start rejoicing and dancing in the street,
because the water from heaven is so sweet,
so won’t you take my hand,
and help build up this newly moist land,
then we can all be together,
rejoicing in the lush and wet weather.
The dark grey clouds of the monsoon,
destroy the gloom and start a season of bloom,
so all those people in the street,
that you keep on wanting to meet,
open their arms in a gesture to greet,
as the falling precipitation peppers the street,
the resonate pattering, a golden treat,
as this is their lucky number seven,
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poem by Dale Mullock
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Monsoon Rains
The Monsoon rains have set at last,
A bit delayed than in the past!
The state is water-logged a lot;
The water-table, up somewhat!
No doubt, the rains are welcome but
Many have lost their lives and hut;
The torrent was sudden and big,
And left most people with no wig!
Many now suffer by the rains;
The water is from sky and drains;
It takes a month to settle down;
This is the scene in every town!
Yet, who does clean the cities’ dumps?
’Tis Nature cleaning dirt, clogs, sumps!
For, no one does this job so well,
Like rain from God that pours like hell!
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poem by John Celes
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A Rainy Day...
The atmosphere was like a just popped toast,
The had to bear it and each felt the burning roast,
The sky was pleasantly arrogant and arrogantly clear,
Soaked the sweats and peasants wiped off their tears,
Suddenly the blue canvas was painted greyish silver,
Who thinks Almighty is a fool, he is far more clever,
Eyes of all desired pretty monsoon showers,
It turned a happy day and breeze shook the flowers,
The monsoon winds were heavenly blessed,
Every twig and bloom were fantastically dressed,
And then the first water dropp fell on the soil,
So nice the fragrance was and everything went moist,
It was a decent scene coupled with hot coffee mugs,
The rejuvenation streams ran from the pleased to the thugs,
Then it turned a dream's godly sight,
It was a rainbow from hidden sun's light,
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poem by Vikrant Jog
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The Canopy Of Sea-gull
The sea-gull floating
Over the blue surface of sea
That weave with unending waves
A beautiful attire for the shore
To be worn by him
When he tie the knot
With the sea whom he kisses
With unabated passion!
The sea-gull is frightened
To see the dark cloud canopy
Over the roaring ocean
Urging her to seek a canopy
For her to escape from the lashing
Monsoon that showered incessantly.
The sea-gull flapped
Its wet wings to raise
From the loved wave bed
Of the sea that fed
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poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Ode to Drowning
is it or is it not
the cold monsoon
bearing the shape
of my dark lord,
speaking of his cruelty
his going away?
— Nammalvar
i.
This is an ode
to be sung
in the latest hour of night
when the rain clouds
have gathered
over shingled roofs
and blue-skinned gods
with magical flutes
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poem by Tishani Doshi
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Monsoon Rains
As a rainbow arches to the cloud-marred heavens
As to the midday zenith the morning sun leavens
As the clouds scamper along the azure sky
Raindrops trickle even as the sun through the clouds pry
As the trickle elevates to a seasonal downpour
As the monsoon whisper sweet nothings to the awaiting floor
As life forms scamper to escape the pummeling rains
Lavishing in a deluge are the corner drains
As monsoons erupt from Aeolus's north-western path
Waiting are the feathered kind for a liberating bath
As the feathers soak in the gallons of heaven's tears of joy
The beak partakes with a whisper from the aisles in an air coy
As the umbrellas open up to the falling fiesta
The elderly succumb to the comforts of an evening siesta
As the mud puddles appear on the pavements' loft
Sweet surrendering are the pants to a splatter exuberant yet soft
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poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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The Best of the Night to you, too, Bala...
So you took the covert road of the night
and stalked me
while I listened to Vivaldi up to midnight
At two when you were ready to go
you woke me stunned stark in your memory
your impishly entrancing laughter
your dark bright pupils beaming through the slits of your tightly drawn
lids
your ivory teeth basking in uncontrollable mirth
your blacker than black ear-antennae and higher than high civil-
servant brows
marking your dark-diamond worth
your patience
your more than necessary feeling for the less than fortunate friends
and relatives
stretched cummerbund tight round your caring nature
How you knew how to share your luck
Always a little put out for your beneficiaries' putout-ness
Worrying speechless night after night lest your luck run out
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poem by T. Wignesan
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Kadambs
When I see them so close from my terrace,
In sway, to and forth in the evening breeze,
Their brown leaves falling off, as if from grace,
With every little burst of monsoon squeeze,
Those yellowed waiting to fall in careless ease,
I wonder if man should learn from trees:
Their endless patience, their resigned frisson
To life, bowing to the will of Nature,
In tune with time, the mood of every season,
Standing tall still triumphant in stature;
Man but admiring from distance, and cool,
Remains the student of a condescending school.
There's something so peculiar of rains so rife,
Which do things strange to me, to trees alike;
It's not water, an elixir of life,
(Trees draw water through roots, through leaves from air,
(And plants can be watered in pots and pans.)
When I water my potted plants they smile,
My worry is o'er-watering,
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poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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