Yielding Poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

Monsoon has broken out this year on time
And yet I have not penned a poem, using
A few green metaphors springing from the depths;
But keep reading management and marketing
Books, dry-as-dust. Ere I die,
Can I afford to let even one monsoon go?

Now I see the green mattress in front of me
Pommelled by hard, glass-like pestles
Of the rains straight from above
Banging the supple grass, with nearby trees
The green-robed senators watching the bed, on which
Lucrece, Philomela do not resist, but accept….

When the breeze blows through the sheet of rain,
Waves get created, rolling zigzag
And spreading out into thin air and drizzle
Against the colorless gray sky of monsoon
That descends into the essence of life,
To impregnate every form of life still.

I see through the gaps of falling lines of rain
And find water-surface, reflecting begetter
Smiling from above, while blind commuters
Standing with umbrellas over their heads,
Men and women with no identifiable pattern,
But eyes searching for BEST bus number from afar.

Modern life has no place for drama in the heavens,
Or intimate facts of life in nature or presented in art
But for only amassing of wealth and hurrying up,
For pumping in the dark without a care
For what happens to the woman in her muscles
In her pains and joys, and gentle closing of eyes to dream.