Reader, meet the society that worships rain
for the two degree drop in monsoon months,
the corresponding fall in utility bills. Drip drop
of coins on smoothened palms. The way it permits
purchase of overpriced umbrellas on Somerset,
a basic economy, the way vapour demands
its conversion to clouds, the currency of rain.
Elsewhere this doxology for monsoon is sung
through the arid mornings, mouth chalky
with dry icicles of saliva. Reader, take the map
and on the plastic page, locate this poem.
Pour the river of coffee over it, see where
liquid learns to seep. The way it leans equally
into land and sea. Reader, why is this so different
why is monsoon so partial. A list of actionables
post-poem: Craft a thesis around this. Take
your learnings from the next utility bill, and draft
some understanding of the way these waters go