There is a chill in the winds right before a storm,
They are like a proclamation song,
They say, brace yourself,
We are here.
As drops of water create cirles in puddles,
Dogs and cats scurry to find shelter,
Strong winds signalling the onslaught,
With skies breaking over our heads.
Leaves twisting and turning,
Bowing down to the sovereignty of winds,
The weak giving way to the young,
The cruel nature of creation.
For one to be born, one must die,
And in his place the young shall rise,
The old giving way to the new,
And the cycle of life repeats.
In the aftermath of a pouring rain,
The leaves don't look up at the sky,
They all look at the ground beneath,
And they do so in unison.
They look at the roots of their origin,
The source of their birth,
And sway together while they say,
Thank you for enduring.
When all ends they all come out to play,
To celebrate the onset of monsoon,
Because beyond the relms of language,
All creatures understand the romance of rain.