Monsoon Fury In March

A birthing sun stretched,
outreach of golden fingers
Over the arch of
predawn’s auburn wings
there was no hiding,
the high octave of light
A sunny spring morning,
a day in March bright

Gay and cheer unfolding,
peeped under shut eyes
Calling the slumbering,
to shift sleepy gear, arise
A grey veil crept,
gossamer silk like at first
unseen sweeping over
clear blue skies, a crust

Around shimmering sun,
climbing the high mound
In a lace of fluff,
unheard the wisps wound
A mischievous cloud,
dressed an awakening choir
Rendered a watery womb,
that fine dawn, on a just lit fire

Down burst the shower
as I watched from my pane
lavishing a coppery fury,
the power of sun and rain
Weaving a monsoon magic,
swept a curtain of spray
On a happily parched land,
Pleasantly surprised, that spring day

Seema Jayaraman
Poet of the month December 2015

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