Varuna (Rain God) Poem by K.S.Subramanian Subramanian

This ancient city waits for monsoon
With bated breath, thwarted often;
Now the sky is kinder, clouds warmer
Varuna bounteous in his dispensation,

Rain is ever a messenger of hope
And in fury, grounds all hopes to dust;
Varuna knows living matters more to Man
than life and never lets him adrift.

He does it with a cynical smile
stifling an age-old query in his chest;
How the self-anointed master of fate
ends up a serf of mammoth conceit?

Man of technology breathless in the race
Man of culture too myopic for company,
Man of religion losing voice in the mists
Man of history tied to the wheel, per se.

Geniuses of yore wished to share, not excel
Voices rising above the juggernaut
Life meant more to them than living,
Now the juggernaut rolls, voices in a knot.

I have my task cut out, says Varuna
Wait for harvest, says he in wily mirth;
Never bask in glory or rue anonymity
for the juggernaut rides on its own faith.