The first rain in Spring somehow reminded me of the monsoon in India; this is the poem I wrote for it.
I do not have words to sing for monsoon
Dropping like silk on humble tin roofs
and carved terraces alike
greening parched mud with mosses.
Hundreds of Hindi lyrics stuck on my mind
I still do not have a tune
for my romantic melancholy language
Cloudy grey breezes- unrestrained sighs
Flow freely, followed by the breaking.
I cannot sing in tune with you
from this relentless icy winter
Without echoing Koyals
Without emarald mango groves.