half moon the half dead faces at the bus stop staring into oblivion
drink in the night and let fate run its course through pale veins
the fire red sky resisting the darkness at dusk
autumn the koel picks up the bits and pieces of her song
blessed be the autumn rain the little ones sing and scream
grey tidings she brings the song of the monsoon etched in our very being
filter away the lightning and thunder and you will hear her name
each year she returns with an army of grey needles to punish frail flesh
like a bitter lover the monsoon wails at concrete towers
far off the lightning and the blinding flash within the skull
elancharan gunasekaran 