By Mariyam hiba
I dipped my biscuits in the tea. The climate seemed to be rainy. Monsoon has an extravagant capability of making people tranquil and busy at the same time. Streets despite being filled with muddy puddles seemed to be crowded. The office and school timing collided, that must be the reason so. Chasing for line buses, students crossing across the roads, shops and vendors in it's start at full fledge all comes to uncease . The clouds seems to be pregnant with water and has turned black.
Looking outside the window, I found that the lawn looked lush green. My shirt was damp and shabby and had not I applied the deodorant it would have appeared even more. Just then Martha entered the living room to say how she hated monsoon. I smiled at her frustration against the nature's mischief. She took away the packet of biscuits and cleared the plates and mugs from the tea poy.
I look outside again. Monsoon is wet.Tears too. For me monsoon is a relatable season. The way we vent out tears in a while ;once again the sky seems to cry out,weep in anguish to the earth. Mother Earth more apparently. Crying on shoulders in a relief the same way, the earth seems to lend its land to over occupied clouds I guess. How is the courtesy here? The act of utter favouring, I thought. I swept the window panes with my hand. Raindrops smiled at me to thank.
By Mariyam hiba
Nice