The Monsoon Shower

And he brought me some flowers
On the first day of the monsoon showers
I had waited for long to hear him call
my name
Though I knew it wouldn’t be the same
This meeting of ours….
Unlike old times, I couldn’t run to him to be in his arms
I could hear his footsteps against the gravel path
I could only smell the fragrance of my favourite flowers
That he gently kept on my grave
and we sat quietly for hours
Because he was always poor with words
and I no more had the power
to wipe his tears of monsoon showers.