And the rain splatters on the aroma of the fragrant sands,
And when the sun shines post it, there shines colored bands.
The calm gloom that shuts the Sun’s bright arrows,
From the sea, it’s precipitation, it borrows.
The raining puddles create joy for some, for the others it is a long list of sorrows;
As if they want the sky to clear, and this should never come tomorrow.
Wriggling their heads as they emerge from the wet sand,
Their mud coloured body slides on the new air in this land,
Their buried are a distant memory, with the new world still out of knowledge, and bland,
But their New colonies and societies are an affair de grand.
The puddle of water ashen by the concrete below,
The gustatory waters loud in their auditory flow,
The sparking clouds and their thundering bellow
Are the sparkling magic of nature, my fellow.
There is a plethora of sights in this vanquished hot,
There is a plethora of joy where there ends a drought.
There is a plethora of water for animals, both wild and draught.
But most of all, there is a plethora of teachings in this cycle that is being taught.
And the rain splatters on the aroma of the fragrant sands,
And when the sun shines post it, there shines colored bands.
—
More by Vrushab Rao here
