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The scorching yellow dims,
the cuckoos call out to each other.
Parading above the paddy of gold-
the grey tufts of warm, humid clouds
lunge on to the trees,
with crackles and flashes of silver light.

Boughs of ripe mangoes sway,
marigolds and freesia cups-
all get to quench their thirst,
after a rigid summer’s reign.
Tapping on my roof-
like a child playing drums on dinner plates,
the pitter and patter goes on.

The earthy smells rise,
as weeds stretch and flowers yawn.
The season of rain- of nature’s music,
cold nights and new blooms.
The season of mirth,
as woodsmoke tangles with petrichor.
Rain like a true knight galloping around.

GREG RAKOZY VLAD CHETAN
2 comments
  1. Such a beautiful free and imaginative poem, in descriptive prose on poem. It’s scintillating.

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