#MonsoonPoem
From a distance,
the incessant chant of monsoon from south west,
sounds like an old witch practising her craft,
And casting spells towards the northern territory,
The winds soar higher into the sky Causing deeper oceans to follow in its rhythm
And the trees wave in one smooth motion
As if to welcome the chilling cold of the deadly night
The sun had long gone to West without a word
And darkness crept in slowly like a ghost sword
But the stars, oh stars! had not burnt out
They twinkle in the dead of the night
They stand up high and far
To show the day's long gone, the night has come, but light remains
And so does hope.
© Yesterday Mailo