Footsteps of Monsoon

I had forgotten what monsoon sounded like.

Desperate whirring fans-

trying to cool air

that presses down with

the weight of its

unshed tears-

unable to break the

silence 

of salt

slowly 

sticking

to cloth

and skin.

Without warning,

a heat wholly opposed

to evaporation-

Evaporates

with a chilling cry

into the rumbling clouds.

The clouds hide their faces

in dark beards that stretch the sky

but the wind carries: 

the sound of their 

watery footsteps 

beating on the pavement

louder and louder

Pach,

PaCH

PACH-

faster and faster

Pach,

PachpachPach,

PachpachPachpachPach-

the sound of their 

watery hands

beat on the door

Dhar

DHaR

DHAR-

the sound of their 

watery ghunghru

strike on the roof

tapar

Tapar, 

TaPaR!

There is no sense

to this liberated chaos-

liberated children

liberated garbage

liberated bodies.

Shimmers of 

silver gota on a pallu

crackles in the sky 

as the clouds move onwards.

They leave a promise of return

on an unspecified date:

the familiar

uncomfortable silence.

A papiha trills for respite

as the darkness turns grey again-

I had forgotten the sound of longing

for footsteps heading 

home.

Uncredited: news18, June 17 '20