Monsoon Depression

In the night, listening to the sounds
Of rain drumming on the tin roof,
To the crashing cymbals
Of dried branches of the Mango tree falling,
To the shattering boom of coconut
Dropping like a cannon ball -
And the wail of the wind
And the croak of the frogs –
The patter of rain on the cemented courtyard
And to the sour, sullen silences of the night -


Looking, mind empty of thoughts, looking
At the seeping water dripping
Through the cracked tiles on the roof
And running down the wall -
At the puddle growing, moving
Slowly like a serpent across the floor -


Looking at Sancho and Sally sleeping
Close together, on the torn piece of an old quilt –
A friend’s wedding gift many years ago…


Listening, looking, thinking about nothing
In particular -
My parents, no more now
Come with the chilling winds that blow.


I imagine myself dead
I see the faces of grief
Of family, friends
The crowd that stand around
Some silent, some socializing
Some looking important, giving directions
The lamps, the burning incense -
My dogs - inexpressible would be their grief,
Quite likely shut in my room, away from people.


The pain of death, I rue, is not of the departed;
What hurts is not the pain
Of having to leave,
But the pain you leave,
Leaving sorrow, only sorrow, to the deprived.
******** Balachandran V, Trivandrum 02.06.2011