The Monsoon Messenger

The prelude of the monsoon; the mighty wind,

The sojourner bearing the good news,

The messenger who evokes the spirit and the smell of the soil,

The Munn Vaasanai.

Dried leaves of the burnt summer,

Brown, yellow and pale,

Are chased away from their palliative homes,

And they decorate the arrival of the season,

As the fertile earth, with a green womb,

Awaits the presence of the groom; the monsoon rains.

The powerful messenger,

With his arms disturbing the dust,

Fills the atmosphere with feathered soil,

And prepares the earthen carpet

For the purifying drops of monsoon

To fall on; to perform their magic.

Cricketing lads with their Duckworth-Lewis calculation,

Giggling screaming school girls

with their frilled-white frocks thrusted between their thighs,

Cashew nut stalls with their airborne umbrellas,

And the Rambuttan seller with his portable thatched roof,

Struggle to find shelter,

To escape from the messenger's invasion;

The strong wind before the monsoons.

The cooling wind,

With the intoxicated dances of the trees,

And the hurried evacuation of the cattle,

Presents the trailer of the thrilling season,

Yet to be witnessed by the nature's audience.

And the world forgets

The scars of the summer.

The messenger,

Stretches his arms to promise

A season of fresh green,

But the monsoon shower,

That arrived on time

Disturbs the oath.