Seasons change, summer brings the monsoon to the south of India,
From the oceans which have no boundary markers
It brings rain to the long coastline, moves over the peninsula
Departs into the sea again and whirling to other lands.
Some years the monsoon seems to lose its plenitude.
It slackens to a laggard pace, dispersing
The mass of nimbus clouds more dark than light
Shedding the moisture in sudden showers
And lightning flashes with self-applauding thunder.
The parasols unfurl in sober shades or gaudy prints,
The umbrellas are now no longer walking sticks
Or staves to chase away famished street dogs.
We finish two circuits of the park's inner track,
Secure footed on the wet paving,
With tufts of grass between the paving stones.
Thank you Poet Bernard Asunicion. I salute you for your sensibility and generous appreciation. Best wishes. Madhavan
From Mysuru, in the Deccan peninsula of India, in the summer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How well you have written this poem, especially the use of the description , self-applauding thunder. It never occured to me that thunder is self-applauding. This is swara re.