By Shriya Kothari
First drop
Touches the parched earth
The sign of heaven descending
Upon each vanquished root of the bargad
Heavy drops bathe the withered fronds, shining
In the fading ray’s glow as frogs leap, crickets hum prayers
Every feather of the peacock blooms, inch by inch showers sing
Their songs of glory as petrichor and wet stone transform each breath
Grains of soil exhale at the graze of the beads, every iota of quench satisfied
The dance of the rain is anticipated, farmers lifting shaky fingers for each bubble
Rivulets trickling down dry palms, wheat stalks in the field swaying to each beat of the
Drums pattering on thick glass cymbals crashing on maroon Mangalore tiles as the
Rhythm of its song invites the koyal to perform for the villagers, adorned in saris
And wide smiles, droplets splashing on glistening crooked teeth, tongues stuck
Out to savour joys of teeming life, whispering among the unbegotten each
Bruised soul sings to the rains’ captivating pattern as the weary sun sighs
Frolicking hills murmur, sun-scorched grasslands stir, rekindled
Burnt and broken spirits are alive again, young ferns uncurling
Lakes swell with newfound strength of tremulous torrents
The land, trees, people applaud the capers’ promise
Grey clouds, pregnant with storming rapids, pose
Prayers passed along by the rains’ commis
Summer is dead and life reborn.