My garden of crimson bougainville, dewy

roses and scarred souls is parched. Monsoon

trickles in through the veins of the bloody

hibiscus and melts away the betrayal

of last season. It makes love with

the luscious cups of the rose petals;

satiating their thirst-

intensifying mine.

This encounter-

like a momentary lapse

of consciousness-

is only a brief one.

Before my parched lips

and sinewy heart

can drink the elixir of life,

You, my infidel Monsoon,

are gone.

                                                 ~ Ria Banerjee 

                                              Kolkata, India