Hope is not cruel

My voodoo charm loses to the Sun.
I breathe, craving for the smell of mud moist.
I search in vain, all day long;
For signs of rain on our parched dirty gr
ound.

My new house smiles,
Trying to make me its own.
But this Sun my foe, abhors my hopes.
It sneers and roars, robust in its arrogance;
Refusing to empathize with my angry yen.

My new found friends,
Gift warm love that offers some solace.
But this Sun my foe, abhors my mirth.
It blinds my eye and burns bleeding nostrils.
My long lost cousins, thunder and lightning of the night;
Vanish fearing the apparitions of sunny smoke.

My new neighbor wins all ‘games’,
In an attempt to teach me some humility.
But this Sun my foe, abhors my wisdom.
It taunts and jeers, seething in mighty rage,
Terrorizing me and the frail black clouds.

My best friend nostalgia,
Blows like cold breeze that offers to sung.
But this Sun my foe, abhors my glee.
August and contemptuous, it lets its hair down.
Humiliating my dainty countenance.

Yet, I refuse to surrender;
To this fireball that dances in vanity,
Drunk in its heady idea of invincibility.

I beseech for an impulsive wind,
For damp rain kissed darkness;
So as to inhale the monsoon’s vertigo.
So as to taste dirty droplets of water,
From the rooftop on my tingling tongue. So as to prance and scurry,
Way past the traffic singing my sexy tune.

So as to walk silently on a dazed night,
Alongside the contours of my terrace;
Long after a thunderous evening shower.
So as to listen to the chaotic peace of dawns;
Relishing the light drizzles,
the remains of heavy showers.

So as to jump up and pull down the bent branches,
Heavy with pellets of water;
So that the small rains fall into me.
Love too, then will pour on me,
Like a centipede, slow;
And majestic on its hundred feet.
Pristine and heart-wrenching.
Just the way it did four monsoons back.
Hope is not cruel.