I wait for poetry
The city waits for rain
It’s early morn on a late June day
Air today, hangs heavy, awaits an arrival
Dark clouds of ideas hover over my head
Their thunder, still a distant echo
A sticky silence gains heft
Strong ideas are weak words now
Semi-solid word clouds
Set for birth, foetuses formed
Fidgeting on their clayey toes
Nervously stand, look around; then
Cautiously collide, with the cluttered door
to my opaque, my concrete mind
Some survive the crash
Most collapse into vapour
The blessed few chip away, break down
thick, unyielding reason walls
Float shakily in the air above
a blank page
They shout furiously in my ears now
My mind gasps for beauty in cacophony
A sudden flash of lightning strikes!
Word clouds burst through to
drench parched parchment
Raindrops embrace unloved Earth
A moist poem settles down like morning dew
Inhaling deeply its fresh notes
The page sways, a solitary drunk
I close eyes, open my arms wide
To bathe in the poetry of rain
The reign of poetry
Varun Dhingra is a quiet voice trying to find its tone in the June of life. He writes about anything that fixes his roving eye. He is based in Delhi while his mind is often found wandering elsewhere.