First Day of Rain
With the blooming of Gulmohars,
Monsoon comes knocking. May has not left yet;
we wait for June. A Vowel of silence
Stretches across the wind.
Mother sits peeling the skin off mangoes
Dexterously. She picks them up
As they drop gently to the earth; who knows
What lives underneath. "The fallen
Do not ruin if caught in time," she says, "The yellow
We can eat and the green we put in pickles."
The bulbul and myna both sing out of focus today,
I hold her palms and do not know what to say.
And suddenly, there is thunder.
As the rain gently seduces the soil beneath our feet,
The fragrance of this love affair undulates
Through the wind. Mother holds her hand
Outside the window. Always there are some
Raindrops that escape her fists. Behind
The buildings a summer sets on us.
All beauty follows anticipation.
Of this we are certain.
Yash Pandit is an 18 year old student hailing from Mumbai, India.
His poetry has appeared in Cafe Dissensus, Random Poetry Tree, Textploit and several other journals over the internet.