If I was a season, I would be monsoon,

I would pour upon you in waves, flooding

every cornice, flickering big fat raindrops

All through the night. You would wake

in the morning to water-logged streets

paper boats, dirty slippers, ilish

and khichuri for lunch. Yes, if I was

a season, I would be monsoon

with torrential rains, blues, greens and greys

washed away on your palette

to return every year to reverberate in your life

and never bleed or fade away.