Woman And A Wet Spell Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Ah a woman and a wet spell,
Ditto like rains she's mighty cool
And proves to be from a tough school,
Between the two we know rains well,
Seldom do we know a woman.
Our casual eyes may find her wet,
Though she may be far from it yet,
Not her, all else we try we can
And manage rather fairly well;
You scarce have enough of her seen
From without nor yet from within,
There's no end to her magic spell.

She conveys well though hardly speaks—
Or so has man now come to feel,
And quiet whilst a storm she kicks,
She's enigmatic onion peel,
You might well peel and peel all life,
Onion she remains all the same,
Nor you win, subtle nigh her game,
Nor is there end to crying strife.
She means nor by the words spoken,
Nor yet like poem kept token,
Is she confused or be clever?
No one shall know if forever.

Easy perhaps man may tired get
Much before can her understand,
For, more he struggles trying at,
Deep in quick-silver he might land.
Suicidal so is it to try,
All we can— smile a smile so wry.
The joys of rains oft come with fears,
And confined to season they are,
Not just an all season a star,
A star is she that has no peers—
She's one, good to look at from far,
Not too close, she's ready to spar.

Like rains she would ease us, or tease,
Drench us wet, or leave us all dry,
Or smother us with love well nigh,
Like windstorm she goes, not like breeze.
And oft scoring well over rains—
All-season overcast remains;
Yet, in man's doldrums a fresh breeze,
Or a lifetime's weakness of his!
With water Shiva we worship,
In her ocean we are like ship,
Beware, many have gotten drowned
O facing her righteous frown!
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Tongue-in-cheek | 09.09.16 |