vivid blushes of cerise
painted the morn's waking dawn
they served as a portent
to the coming rains
Its bright and sunny

Not same
The last 3 days .
A relative , passing away
Never whom I met
A pall of gloom, yet .

Husband would be back from tour

A day before
Stuck  he was in the heavy downpour
And flooded Mumbai roads .
My heart sank,
Reminded of the deluge
Year 2005, July 26th
Stuck he was in a similar situation
Residents of Mumbai, then we were.

A Day before
He had a long day ahead
Asked  the driver to leave
Only to return by evening .

The driver with no return route
The hotel a few Kms away
Not a single Ola Uber
Around the corner
Added  to the bother.

A good 40 minutes walk
In waist high water
Followed by a bus ride
Hotel ,he managed to reach .
And hopefully ,
The Mumbaikars to their homes
Who waded along
Helping each other in the murky waters.

Not to be missed
Come Rains or Terrorists
Mumbaikars with help , do outreach.
Had been feeling low in the last few days partly due to the weather and happenings,
and did not write much.
Things are fine today and so a quick write , inspired again by my favourite
Place , and so the title , ' The Spirit Of Mumbai'.
In spite of adversities the people there are never let down.
Pal, you are from Mumbai,
Of course that's not false,
On the way back take care,
Just stay safe my darling,
Again it reminded of 2005.

Seeing you healthy is divine,
Take your health to the next level,
Aim 100% health today along me,
You're better if you are healthy.

Some desires for life remain,
A** desire is my parents' health,
Final desire is your wellness,
Effect it will have on our kid's health.

And my emotional strength too,
Note my dear request to you,
Divine is this feeling of love.

Sifts through my mind's crevices,
Only your safety day and night,
Until we see our grandchild,
Not just its birth but even its life,
Dear, you gotta stay healthy for it.
My best friend Pooja Shah is from Mumbai which is a city always at one peril or the another.

I want to wish safety for Pooja Shah and all the other Mumbaikars.

My HP Poem #1656
©Atul Kaushal
G Rog Rogers Aug 2017

Even in the rain
Love remains
God alone
remains unchanged
He's still the same
Love remains

The winds they blow
and floods assail
Love prevails
Lightning strikes
then the thunder sounds
Love abounds

Jesus please say now
"Peace be Still"
Seek Love's will.
You have an ear
Oh let them hear

Love's there
Love's near

Then the Love will reign
gentle showers to wash
and heal the pain

The Spirit Winds prevail
gentle breezes
to fill Love's sail

Even in the rain
standing naked
in our shame
Love remains

God alone remains
He's still the same

Love remains.


Ashwin Kumar Jul 2017
All days may not start well
Things may not go to plan
Punctuality monsoon will tell
Start as early as you can
But not always in our hands
Things at the mercy of rain
Is there any place to stand?
In a Mumbai fast local train?
More so when it is late
Leaving you at the hands of fate
Men push, jostle and bicker
Place to stand is a premium
At your expense, they snicker
For a while, it’s pandemonium
To and fro, back and forth
Swung for all your worth
Then the train stops when it shouldn’t
Getting further late when it shouldn’t
When time comes to alight
You are expected to defy gravity
Jumping a moving train with no clarity
Changing over at Dadar is no delight
Later greeted by grime and muck
Rain at Lower Parel adds to bad luck
Noisy motorists on a narrow street
Make your mind admit defeat
Reaching office is a relief
Your sweat beggars belief
Just the start of a long day ahead
A miracle not to lose your head
A poem about the vagaries of commuting in Mumbai local trains during the monsoon
Star BG May 2017
Looking out window
a cumulus cloud was stalled above.
What lurks within the cloud I wondered.
Is is energies ready to explode upon earth with torrential rains?
Could it be a space ship filled with visitors wishing to get a closer look at our world.
Or maybe, it’s just swirling within generating a highway for rainbows to be born.
Its a matter of being patient for all answers come for those who wait.
Wait with an open heart.
Inspired by Eric W's picture
Seanathon Apr 2017
My voice is in the falling rain
A crashing rolling weeping realm
My song of storms proudly proclaims
These clouded skies are falling down

Back to the earth from whence they came
A moist collection careening down
To crash into the waterways
And sing my song clear and aloud

Into your ears I whisper rain
And share my secrets so profound
As droplets cleanse the concrete stains
They sweep away the sorrow sounds

So here I sits by window panes
To smell the sky and taste the clouds
Though thunder rolls and storms berates
My song remains like falling sounds
Sometimes when the words are just right. They just all align and walk through the door together in unison. Or at least so it was with this creation. Be sure and listen to me read it on my SoundCloud account. Link below. And thank you for reading, sharing, commenting, and following along as you feel called. (:
Apoorv Shandilya Jan 2017
To let you know
Of weird things:
In those inexplicable rainy days,
Dates are celebrated with coffee alone
And sometimes with hot chocolate or tea.
Poetry, Books and something warm would do just fine too.

While talking about this weird love
where lies the first kiss that you promised?
and the gifts that lie in secrecy
I want them all fast and here
Before you darling, break free.

So let us beneath this lasting rain,
Live the only life we saw.
And wake up drenched in tears knowing
That we still lie all alone.

It is an interesting life we live
Dying for facades.
Only we live.
The Napkin Poet Dec 2016
Every ounce of pressure against my veins,
like the flood of heavy summer rains.
Trying to escape the coating of my flesh,
internal tensions I could not oppress.
I hear crickets, smell the morning dew.
All I can ever concentrate on is you.
Made to feel nervous but oh so calm,
sometimes even sweet like cherry lip balm.
A moment of combustion then release,
your tongue wanders onto my body, into a crease.
I'll never care if I get rich,
so ever long as you ease my twitch.
Stale smoke and the scent of butane,
breath seeps into me like a bloodstain.
You, a child at heart
and I, a freak into abstract art, like Ad Reinhardt.
What a fine creation, our own constellation,
an innovation, better than intoxication.
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