In most parts of South India,
There are only two seasons.
A long and drawn out summer,
Interrupted by monsoon rains.
Then there are days like today,
When the morning was a pain.
Being under a burning sun,
The clothes cling to your body.
You yearn for wind or water.
Or even a bit of shade,
You can’t even lift your head,
To look at the blinding sun.
Despite the heat, you go out,
Lunch and something cool with it.
In the middle of your lunch,
You’re hearing a noise outside,
The sound of raindrops hitting,
The pavement, the road, and roof.
It comes with the sweet fragrance,
That the first rain usually brings.
What was a relief at first,
Rapidly turned to horror.
The rains were not slowing down,
How would I go back to work?
In ten minutes I was out,
It had turned sunny again.
If we can’t have a pattern,
Why we have seasons at all?
Day twenty five of NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt was to write a poem about a season and to describe it using all senses. I guess I’m tasting defeat. Also it should have a rhetorical question.