• The Wait

The plough is weary but glad,

To see the black fields ready,

Sun and wind so harsh and intense,

Souls arid and thirsty,

Earth urges the skies to thunder,

To comfort the stertched agony,

Soil prays for the filled clouds,

To wet the parched misery.

(Select lines from my English poetry book)

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# Indian Summer, Rain, Indian Monsoon