#MonsoonPoem
From a distance,
the incessant chant of monsoon from south west,
sounds like an old witch practising her craft,

Clouds grow and loom, from above, filling the atmosphere, like a cancer.

A sudden charge darts with tormultous pounding, bolts against itself, echoing violently in the wind.

Without notice the great cloud expels it's cargo, like an enemy plane distributes, it's artillery,

The wind grows to a deafening volume,...