RABIN Basu
Kolkata, West Bengal
The rain has come with thunder’s drum,
it lashes down with might,
No sun appears on monsoon days,
just clouds that steal the light.
The sky is roaring, lightning flares,
like giants rushing by,
It feels as though enormous beasts
are stampeding through the sky.
Little boy wakes with fear
each time the thunder rolls,
He jumps and clings to mother’s arms
as loud the echo tolls.
The treetops drip, the crows get soaked up
high upon their perch,
Two mynas sit on thatched roof edge,
beneath the rain they lurch.
It pours and pours the whole day
through with pounding, mighty sound,
The dogs all stand and shiver still,
no shelter can be found.
The flooded road now sways and sinks,
an oxcart struggles by,
The farmer mourns his ruined crops
beneath the weeping sky.
“O rain,” says Ma, “please stop for now,
my little boy must rest—
You’ve poured and stormed the whole long day,
his sleep you have suppressed!”