The Monsoon Wind

When I see your silver inscriptions on that leaf
I wish I was the sky behind it
A poet whose words vaporize as clouds
A loss which omits the rainbow but leaves behind an autumn
I had once disrobed you in that bed as a fantasy
Now I have been doing the same, but for poetry
Now I can find adjectives anywhere.
They have left you
as a few leaves, few lips, few paths
Lovers need you too.

This isn’t a loss
as you are now a woman who has learnt to give
Clothes are mere greeneries which makes a beauty, beautiful

Perhaps, you were always eager of me
Only now those hands are revealed
How they make me assured of myself, as I reconfirm ‘a poet has poetry in his veins’.
You won’t be neglected.

I will soon find your lost adjective in a lover
and the lover will find himself in a thirsty crow
He will not snatch with his beak
Rather, he will quench his, seeing us love the love of losses.

He will clothe us, perching on a cloud tree.

He takes flight after a while.
The monsoon wind.


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