Poetry comes

Fleeting reflections and evocative images strike like moths in the first rains .At the dead of the night, they embrace their shadows on the frosted glass. The window –sill is carpeted with wings.

The garden walk is strewn with innumerable carcasses of one-day glory .Where were the creatures the last season ?

Then the weather was warm and oppressive .It was only towards the vaporous evenings that light rain kissed the fragrant earth .Nowhere was the north-west monsoon in sight .These fairy creatures crouched under the earth with half-sprouted wings for take-off.

This season it is entirely different .These are long wet nights followed by rich rakings of their gossamer wings.

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