#MonsoonPoem

From a distance,
the incessant chant of monsoon from south west,
sounds like an old witch practising her craft,
A stong desire to cultivate and develop ,
A stong will force works.

The vivid noise of continuous rage,
Practising till it's mastered,
The darkness casting a shadow of fear,
The cyclone came at the doorstep,
And the witch opened her eyes.

Battleing it with all her power,
Her practise came to and,
Now she is calm and quite,
A peace cames across,
The deathly atmosphere is now under control.

Here comes the Autumn,
Fallen leave in a dept of void,
Her time is up,
Healing can only help her,
Waiting for the spring surpassing winter,
Her lover promised to meet again,
Once the flowers starts to bloom.

Summer for her cheerful childish personality,
But gone are those days,
Will she be able to put on,
Or die without even the arms of her lover.

Time is really short, missed are those moments,
Gone are those days,
Only adult awarness and her death in the battlefield,
Will make the days of others,
A silent sacrifice, is it worth for others life?

© SHADOW_KEEN.er