From: Jane. To: Rain

Oh great Indian monsoon, please show your face.
So far, you’ve been an utter disgrace!
No storms, no sploshes, no plops.
No miserly two-bit drops.

But wait - hey!
When I said Rain Rain Go away,
I really meant to say, Please stay.
Don’t be a spoil sport, come out and play.

Please wash my terrace, flood the streets.
You have permission to drench my sun-dried bed sheets.
Just Rain.
Don’t be a pain.
I want no excuses, no buts.
And I really want no more power-cuts.
The price of tomatoes has gone through the sky.
Because every farm is dry.
The big ole trees are dying of thirst.
But those pregnant clouds just refuse to burst.

Made my point. Please Mister Rain?
Save our grain. Please, pretty please, just come out again.


Comment : 1

Dear Jane. This is Mister Rain.
I know the reason you want me to shoot,
Is not for the earth or the crops or the roots.
I’m a wise old fella.
It’s cos you’ve just bought a new fancy umbrella.