Heavenly blemish on this earthly stain,
Every tear drop felt like rain,
Sorrow it was, unbound by the drooping clouds
Marauding a new path, evading the crowds.
Feeling the pain to be of insecure leash,
It would run away surely, to become another's pastiche.
Then the happiness will come leaping out of the bushes,
As the new cloud regains color, quicker it rushes--
Into the sea, to gather more moisture,
It cannot eat much water, with an old man's denture.
Funny it seems to many who look aghast,
But the monsoon ended, not soon, but at last.
--Mohan
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