When the Monsoon Painted the World
The sky wore a dusky charcoal veil,
And whispered rain in a tender tale.
A single drop, then thousands more,
Tapping secrets on roof and floor.
The gulmohar blushed a deeper red,
As clouds curled softly overhead.
The mango leaves in rhythm swayed,
While muddy roads in silence played.
A stolen glance beneath one shade,
Two hands that touched, then shyly stayed.
The monsoon knew, before we spoke,
That love had bloomed with lightning’s stroke.
Blue puddles held the evening’s glow,
Reflections dancing soft and slow.
A childhood memory drifted by —
Paper boats and a thundered sky.
The scent of earth, the sound of peace,
A restless heart found sweet release.
Each droplet wore a shade so true —
Of longing, love, and something new.
And in that storm, I found my rhythm,
Beneath the hues of kind monsoon.
Not just the rain — but how it feels,
When broken parts begin to heal.
