Monsoon In a Small Indian Town
In May, his sister graduated
Cornell. He wasn’t there
for her graduation.
He was sixteen and consumed
by the state-wide examinations
as inexorable as the first spell of rain.
Fate was a river that arced upwards,
setting him back its glittery concourse
It reflected his disappointed fears
and laughed into his face.
As he cycled through flooded streets
under skies fierce in their disbelief,
the buildings were like galleries
of irritable gods.
His red Physics textbook was his tincturing traitor.
So much school had he suffered and yet,
he was unlearned.