You, the smoky white droplets of the south west monsoon, Pause a while, before you hurry to cross places and country sides... Whom do you meet on your way that sometimes you become calm and sometimes aggressive? Why do you huddle your pace as if you're on a mission, and then suddenly lower your pace? What do you murmur with the hobnobber thunder that sometimes he laughs aloud, and sometimes just smile with a flash?
What makes you mettlesome that you let yourself chuckle and suddenly downcast at times, then howl and finally a wail? When do you ask your companion gale to accompany you, is it when you feel lonely or when you keep your vengeance mode on? Why do you switch country sides, is it to bless each or just that you love to change your travelling gown? What makes you stay here for long, is it that you love to stay or just to fill the granaries? What vow do you take when you quit, is it to clear the dust and dirt every time it accumulates in mass? Would you once drop in swiftly to pacify the bleak soul of mine with the fresh and cool bland touch of yours? Like The Phoenix the lost spirits in me needs the frozen warmth of your hands. Shall I keep the door of my heart open to receive you once you drop in?