October Rain
It wasn’t the season for rain, being
The middle of a bone dry October
When the yellow fields of soybean were ready
For harvesting, and the farmer wanted
At least a week of dry weather,
To harvest the crop and take it to the mandi.
But all his hopes were shattered by this unseasonal deluge,
Which came down with all the thunder and lightning
Of a good monsoon storm, only more violent seemed the
Fury of the elements: the guts of wind tearing the leaves
From the silk-cotton tree, and tossing the boughs of the
Peepul and bending the tall casurina trees almost double.
The flurries of rain bicycle off the tarmac and the
Fat drops slid along the eaves before falling
In long, slender, ropes of rain.
Thunder rolled overhead like some moving
Heavy furniture over a rough floor.
All this heavy artillery and operatic effects were
Quite enough to convince even city-bred skeptics
Like me, that the weather would have its way.
Umbrellas would be upended like witches’ broom,
And even cars wouldn’t get far on the flooded streets.
O all our amentias for keeping warm
Rattle like tinplate in that unseasonal storm.
