The sky mooning over the earth
so close,yet so far. Eeyorish and sombre.
Pining for an unattainable love
since the inception of time.
Every monsoon its eyes get misty
by blue water drips.
Eyelids droop down heavy
with colonies of amorphous clouds.
Tears rain down, thundering gasps
downpour of suppressed mourns.
The ponds ripple, rivulets spill
trees dance in viridescent gala.
Birds cackle, minstrels’ exhilarating rhapsodies
environ the doleful aura.
In the funeral of the sky’s dead longings
earthlings revel in pluviophilia.
Where goes the compassion, the kindness multifold?
It’s perhaps the chilly gale which
renders them unsympathetic and cold.
Midnight Soprano 