1 min read

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.          

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