Rain

I loved you like the rain
That awakens the whole city with relief
Embalms and cleanses, provides and floods
Breaks for occasional strobes of sun
Children play football and open their arms to the sky
You resurfaced,

becoming yourself, you settled
finally smiling and narrating poetry
stirring cups of coffee, washing
away
disasters that reduced you
coming to me as woman and child

You couldn’t love me as the rain, instead
wavered like the wind and floated
back into back habits
bringing the sun out and dried
every drop from our lake

I let go like the rain that leaves a city
Gradually then all at once
In summers to come you’ll look at sky
Parched
Why aren’t the clouds arriving, one asks

Between Rain

sulken branches, holding
societies of weaver bird nests
speckled by the moving chatter
of a thousand yellow birds
forming lives

the fields heavy with ponds, bordered
by tip toeing jackals
the quenched quails that flutter in unison
and the black stone stands mossy, waiting
for a fern to cover its eyelashes

and till the long distance, the country
ripens in the green season
a soft light glazes the earth
each bund
a square mirror for the clouds

Integration

Swallows, in random turns, peck the river
That holds the image of moving clouds
Carefully before the breeze paints an impression
Ripples die only a few breaths later, the cycle
Of the villager crossing the bridge
Creaks across its wooden length like a long complaint
Logs half eaten by rain grow out of rocks
Storing puddles of tadpole eggs, the sky
Turns grey
The breeze winds into a wash
The river’s images wiped out into waves
Shores that housed storks take off suddenly
Clouds darken, the sky cracks into thunder
The temple bell sways and tinkers in the distance
Getting louder, as the storm brews
Softening
As the screen turns grey, the sound
Of falling rain plucking us all 

Rice Fields, Circa 2000

serene
in this moment, the paddyfield
stirred by soft breezes

lulled
by the grey sky, mango trees
cloud into a forest

immersed
till the knees, the farmer
wades through his fluorescent land

calmed
by the pecking drizzle, he stands
watching the storm brew

13.1.17 – in memory of Nerur, Kudal, Maharashtra.