JULY CLOUDS
Night descends grudgingly
Over my town.
In smoky July,
The breeze is a rustling
Scrape of sand paper
Rubbing against the face of
A barren sky.
Like bored coquettes,
Stars lean against the walls of night
Faking a smile on their made up faces
And whispering light.
The evasive clouds
Drift away sheepishly
Beyond the distant cliffs,
I don't know why --
But clouds have turned here
Strangely reclusive
This July.
They say that the warm ocean-currents
Have sucked them dry,
Leaving them ineffectual, hollow,
So, the clouds now sail languidly
Across a grey July sky --
Declaring their presence
In impotent rumbles, stray gusts,
In spiralling dust columns,
And scarce drops that become vapour
Against my window pane
Before the clouds slinked by!
I know not why
But the clouds seem to
Elude my town this July!!
AT LAST THE RAINS CAME
At last the rains came on a July midday
In mild currents first,
And then in angry torrents,
Washing the paan stains
And the blotchy paints off the walls,
Filling the potholes on the
Bruised streets,
Overflowing the gutters,
Cleansing polythene and plastics
It cluttered on the sidewalks.
The rain came finally,
Carrying the smell of rotten garbage
Dead leaves, sodden earth, and
Soaked paper boats in
Stale puddles.
At last, the rain spilled from a leaden sky
In tiny spikes of molten warmth
Pricking the skin, travelling
Into my blood, like a coaxing reptile,
Looping my parched desires
And my desiccated dreams.
At last the July clouds broke over
The row of bald hills,
And rain came down to my thirsting window
In driving grey spills.
*paan -- betel leaf
Snehaprava Das is an academic, translator and writer. She has multiple translations, three collections of stories and five anthologies of poetry to her credit. She has been published in Indian Literature, Oxford University Press, Speaking Tiger, Penguin and Black Eagle Books.
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