The Monsoon, Now Gone

For three months, the monsoon, now gone, was an
indulgent elder, pretending to listen to me while arm

wrestling with an impotent sun, the spot where we
sat on the back steps still dark, smelling of earth and

mothballs . I told him those stories about us, the ones
we have forgotten, but it grew wilder the nights the

moon tried to rise above the thick soup floating in
from the Bay of Bengal.  Oh, how she dances that one,

in hysterical discord, her breast a pale watery half disc
gleaming through the tangled mass of cloud and rain and

words that had stopped rhyming. And then I recalled
the day we walked, soaked to the skin, our one umbrella

broken, the roads like rivers, laughing because the night
had fallen into a tin of cooking oil and we couldn’t even

see our hands in the greasy black and it wouldn’t let up
and it wouldn’t end and I was crying and the monsoon

stopped combing his long grey hair, eyes moist, and that
crazy moon, she finally stood still, frowning, remembering.

56 thoughts on “The Monsoon, Now Gone

  1. wow there is a whole theater going on which brings the monsoon, the air, the clouds alive and you see it all playing off in beautiful images. …and you could look at this play again and again

    Like

  2. Now gone, but like an insect in amber, it sits in this poem never gone. Thank you for giving us so many characters to contemplate in our relative calm: The monsoon (a startling opposite of what I know as an “indulgent elder” until his leave taking), the impotent sun, the gleaming, dancing unstoppable moon–and the ones that walk, wet, awed and laughing. What a drama! Amazing poetry.

    Like

  3. The monsoon can drive you bonkers known as ‘monsoon madness’ Monsoon for me is associated with mould, everything wet all the time, leaking roofs, blocked drains, mosquitoes,steaming sweat and humidity. No I don’t envy you. (And it goes on for so long)…No…I don’t miss it.

    Like

  4. ” an
    indulgent elder, pretending to listen to me while arm

    wrestling with an impotent sun, the spot where we
    sat on the back steps still dark, ”

    my favourite lines Rajani

    much love…

    Like

  5. Everything I love about poetry is to be found here.
    I was especially wowed by the following:

    laughing because the night
    had fallen into a tin of cooking oil and we couldn’t even

    see our hands in the greasy black

    The personification of the monsoon and moon created a different level of experience for me.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I love the personification in this poem, Rajani, especially the monsoon as an
    ‘indulgent elder, pretending to listen…while arm wrestling with an impotent sun’.
    I also love the imagery in:
    ‘…her breast a pale watery half disc
    gleaming through the tangled mass of cloud and rain’
    and
    ‘broken, the roads like rivers, laughing because the night
    had fallen into a tin of cooking oil and we couldn’t even
    see our hands in the greasy black …”

    Like

    1. Thanks so much. We’ve had a bunch of issues typical of an overbuilt urban landscape but nothing major. Like all natural disasters the monsoon too sadly has the greatest impact on the poor – every single year, getting worse with climate change.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Ha ha.. come visit next year Bjorn.. and experience it at its best! Now the season is almost done. I think I had the same reaction when I lived in the west..after about a month of winter, the short days begin to get to you! Start craving sunshine!

      Like

    1. Thanks Sarah…am looking out the window at another grey sky after a bright and warm Saturday. We’ve had more than our fair share of rain this year! It breeds melancholic poetry like it does mosquitoes!!

      Like

Share your thoughts:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.