Rain

Dr. Kondal Rao Velchala

Over the grand city, Madras

Clouds broke,

Pita-a-pat, pita-a-pat

Like a plane of a deity crash – landing.

It started raining at ten, right on the morn.

The rainwater swelling in the drain-channels

Together with the dead lizards, the rats, and the bats

A stifling breeze,

A surfeit of stench strangulating the breaths.

The flow of people became slow in the streets.

Even those considered the V.I.P’s

Safe landing on the verandahs of the open shops

For fear of getting drenched.

But the buses passed through the water-flowing streets

Spraying ploughing waters to sides and wides,

On to the crouched under the eves of the roofs,

To the talking too and the walking over the pavements.

Up in the sky, clusters of clouds made clashing sounds

Like the old ram - shackled buses rattling on the roads.

It was still raining Pita-a-pat, pita –a-pat.

Some citizens entertained themselves in a way side coffee hotel

Some one describing the figure of a she-hot-shot

A next door neighbor.

Suddenly, like a million men munching the glow-flowers

Glittered the blaring -blazes of lightning along with thunders.

The rain increased in a lashing strain

May be because of the over whelming reception accorded to it

By the holiday mood students.

The bare breasts of the mango vendors

Protruding from their braless blouses

Like the ripening mangoes

Making men go merry,

Their cheeks turning cherry.

The whole expanse of earth was grinning green

As if the kindness of the sky was caressing it

With the compassion of its copious tears

With overwhelming passion.

Aye! The time is up for me to go to office

Before my boss bursts out like the out bursting clouds.

But where is my “Cavender Cigarette”?

Let me have a sumptuously smoke off

Before I start my unending war with those counts

Which they so call in my office as “Accounts.”