Monsoon Blues

A little of myself
I see around 
in my garden.
Wane and weary.
The lush lawn 
resembles a muddy patch
 with thorns and thistles.

The Coconut trees
resemble a barren woman,
 So much about the mangoes,
 gooseberries, jamuns
even the curry leaves
reflect  the pallor.

Thirstily  my trees and I 
wait for the monsoon,
dry mouthed. 
Sense  a chill
when I think of the 
rains last season.

They poured heavy
inundating the fields
made way  into the 
marooned, rendered  
homeless and 
few hundreds died.

Destruction of all means.
being double edged,
 both from excess 
and from  inadequacy.
Fire chars.Water gobbles
Incensing nature 
by our mindless  means.

Ponds and water bodies 
are plotted sold, where
houses stand majestic.
Canals and Channels
 are closed, creating 
severe blockages. 
Whom to blame?
Should we welcome 
monsoon? I ask 
My exasperated trees 
condescend an answer
after long deliberation.
not verbally  as I thought 
by pouting, turn a sarcasm.
 mocking humanity.