August in July

Mindless drizzles at dawn,
And a ruthless storm to kiss us crass.
An ivy green fate at mid-morning,
And luscious grass that smells of kinky weed.

Stealthy fog, like a cat arrives;
To blind us of the annoyance of daily rants.
Ecstatic cloud like a ghostly beast,
Descends like torrent, on the somber midday lake.
The lake then rushes to lust that rain,
Akin to a lovely new bird on flight.

The rain at dusk tastes like the forbidden fruit,
Only it brings no woe or foe.
We live on the edge of every new leaf by the road,
and breathe through our right eye and then the left.
The pungent wet crimson ruins, they;
Break our agonies like a dainty piece of glass.

The morose men carry umbrellas,
The frigid women take the sidewalk;
While we jump gay into the muddy puddle,
And drink of the water dripping from ruins.

Pains from past then become lonely swans,
The pleasure of now, a virgin volcano;
As we dissolve in the rainstorm,
Life takes the shape of wind;
that murmurs delirious secrets,
Gifting us peace of an infant’s slumber.

Night too comes, and the rain still lives.
Now sounding like soft old age love.
The wind then drifts away, weary of its own pace;
Caressing gently, leaving behind a rainbow sky.

Our youth too like monsoon,
Beholds promises such as these.
A promise of impassioned company,
And a glimpse of the Eden of love.