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lo Oct 2019
this is when i want you the most; when its 9 30 am and it is still gray outside because the rain came early today. press your fingertips into the dips of my waist with every roll of thunder because you are here and i am here and its dark but its still a new day. in arizona, we're lucky to get rain three months out of the year, those months are called monsoon season. heavy storms that knock over chairs and threaten windows, knock on car doors begging to be let in. we count down to the start of monsoon season and i cant help but think how beautiful it is that so many people who will never meet all look forward to this one thing. when it rains, we cry, creating our own storms and puddles on tile floors with rumbling laughter for thunder. you, dear, are a monsoon, in every sense of the word; strong and beautiful and devastating. anticipated. i count down the days, and when you finally arrive, everything is finally bright; your smile supplied its own lightning. you knock on the counties of my body and make yourself at home until its time to go. monsoons always start and end with drool and you are the same way, able to create something from nothing; incredible.
found in my closet, handwritten in july of 2017
Tsunami Aug 2019
The
       mangoes
make an appearance
before the
                 monsoon...
so will you.
i was 17 when i wrote this
Dev Aug 2019
I've been attacked, chased, and charged

By cats and snakes small and large

Bitten by sharks with great white teeth

All while monsoons crashed our reef

I've attracted gorillas with my jungle musk

And fought them off with an elephants tusk

But in all the places I've been stranded

It's only cities where I can't stand it
My response to the challenge: Find the nearest book (of any kind). "Turn to page 8. Use the first ten full words on the page in a poem. You may use them in any order, anywhere in the poem.

"I've been chased by elephants, bitten by snakes, charged by Gorillas, attacked by sharks, stranded in monsoons... " - National Geographic Survival Book
The Lenora Jul 2019
The forceful dust moving in
From the raging monsoon
Reveals the inner needs deep within me

The lightning runs through the sky
Bringing power and vengeance
If only I was as beautiful and strong

The thunder screams what I want to scream
To those below me
Shake them up with wonder

The dust blinds it all
Yet binds it all
As one
written 22 July 2019.

by The Lenora.

All rights reserved.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
A father carries on his shoulders
his 3 year old son,
as the father walks waist deep in
monsoon floodwaters
seeking to escape the floods
and carry his child to safety.

Monsoon floods
happen every year in India
and every year people are in flood-distress.
I wonder
what is the solution to flood-distress?
Better infrastructure like concrete drains
linked to concrete waterways
linked to reservoirs
which save water for the dry season?
I wonder
who will build this infrastructure?
How will this infrastructure be built?
Who will pay for this infrastructure?
The development of poor nations
like India
is a mystery to me.
I wonder
how poor flood-prone villages in India
will develop the needed infrastructure
to prevent monsoon flooding?
Jayantee Khare Jul 2019

            The                             arrival            
        of                          monsoon,
sprouting        begins
on parched,
deserted
land
and
on the
heart
too......

♂♀
Shape of sprout roughly made
chitragupta Mar 2019
I am usually an amnesiac
Which is why there is always
cheap stationery in my pockets

- "An inexpensive set from Faber-Castell"

I look to my scribbles when I'm lost
unless an unexpected shower
has been tasked to ruin them

- "Pages stuck together, smudged and stained"


Three monsoons have come and went
I don't carry an umbrella or run for cover anymore
I stand in the middle of the downpour, drenched
But I guess some inks are just too hard to wash away
Use the sharpie on the whiteboard at your own peril, fans of irony.
Ryan Almighty Jan 2019
It is raining again today
Everything is wet
Everything is heavy
Sun has vanished in the gray sky
Everything is murky
But no one else is bothered by it because
The monsoon resides in me.
...
Perhaps not all clouds have a silver lining.
Saurabh Trikha Dec 2018
As the sun soars high in the sky and the tarmac shimmers in the heat.
I walk along on a grassy patch, with my headphones attach.
My throat has gone dry, mumbling to the beat.
I have nothing but a bottle, which is half empty.
My feet they never stop, because I’ve got some stress to cope.
The trees, they give me shade.
Our shadows becoming one as I stroll past them.
The dogs pretending to be brave, until I reach out,
its the care they crave.
Leaves fall down to the earth, yellowish blade
some curling through in the wind, others gently floating

I look on to the horizon, where the hills meet the heavens
and soon realize its all going to change in a matter of hours.
The glimmer of thunder at the distance does not reach my ears yet,
but the cool breeze reassures me of whats going to happen next.
As the blue of the sky turns to grey, I ask myself
should I turn back home, or is it time to play?
I have decided and so have the birds, as they flock together the greet the showers first.
The magic when a single drop of water hits the dirt, and the aroma fills you to the core.
“Petrichor!!” been ages if I recall.
Despite being drenched from head to toe, and whether my mobile is going to work fine or no.
The rain has mesmerized me completely, even though being a brief respite.


Well its a rainy day, the first of many more to come, i pray.
wrote this last year, during the first spell of monsoon!! hope you like it.
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