SUMMER

It had to happen in summer,
the ultimate, the inevitable,
after all those wasted
years of dreaming.
The wave of heat
burned its way
through our veins
as we sized each other up,
coldly apprehensive.

We never told each other
how our earlier summers passed
but for me the summer always waited,
taking its time to die,
the monsoon taking its time to be born.

Finally it was.
The rains came pelting down,
as my lips touched yours
like kissing broken glass
and my fumbling palms
closed in on your breasts.
Outside, summer's wry
laughter passed coldly
from my wet palms,
up my dry arms to the few
strands of grey hair.

But summer had finally brought
the time to grow wet
and cold with expectations.
 

RAINS

To concede meekly, alone,
I never loved the rains.
When others slept blissfully,
I remained awake.
Rains always filled me
with weird diffidence
when they fell on our
asbestos roof-top,
pounding on like
ancient horsemen on rampage,
devastating innocent villages.

Yet one day with you,
as the clouds darkened,
the rains fell waywardly
in drops and showers;
we discarded our umbrellas,
feeling the rain glide down
smoothly on our warm
oily bodies.

Today, when I walk alone
or even walk together with you,
the raindrops no more
slide off my skin.
Now they seem to prick
at my emerging wrinkles.