Questions I want to ask the monsoon

I have things I want to ask the monsoon
when it hits the west coast in June. It has
a comforting regularity, even in these 
times. See, that’s what we do in the 
summer, bury questions in the earth so 
they will flower after the first rain. 

Something about perennial grey and a 
damp lethargy provides more answers
than you can imagine. I have been planting 
questions since March but after last 
week, I have some more. What will history 
be, I want to know, if we backspace all 
the wars — what is the chronicle of 
peace? Where does it begin? The rattle 
of rain on a window pane knows more 
than it lets on. Why is loss so big and a 
child so small when we birth them both 
from our loins? How does rain bring forth
life while the stars just keep watching?

Somewhere in the jungle, peacocks will 
spread their wings to welcome the rain – 
nature needs the whole spectrum of 
colours to paint hope. What about –  and this 
I want to talk about face to face, over 
many cups of tea, why break ritual over
rhetoric – what about Bulwer-Lytton and
the pen being mightier than the sword? 
Now that AI writes and AI fights, who 
draws first blood? Who has the last word?
What is the antithesis of yet another poem?

#Poetry