by Sonnet Mondal
[box type=”bio”] Sonnet Mondal is an award-winning Indian English poet and has authored eight books of poetry. His latest book is Diorama of Three Diaries (Authorspress, New Delhi). He was bestowed the title Poet Laureate from Bombadil Publishing, Sweden, in 2009. His works have appeared in
Sonnet Mondal
more than a hundred international literary publications including The Macedonian Stremez, The Penguin Review of Youngstown State University, International Gallerie, The Istanbul Literary Review, World Poets Quarterly, The Journal of Poetry Society of India, Holler of Princeton Poetry Project, Friction Magazine of New Castle University, Foliate Oak Journal of University of Arkansas and Other Voices Poetry Project (endorsed by UNESCO), to name a few. He was inducted into the prestigious Significant Achievements Plaque at the museum of Bengal Engineering and Science University, Shibpur in 2011, nominated for Pushcart Prize in 2011 and was featured as one of the Famous Five Bengali youths by India Today magazine in 2010. Sonnet is the pioneer of the 21 line Fusion Sonnet form of Poetry. At present he is the Managing Editor of The Enchanting Verses Literary Review, Editor of Best Poems Encyclopaedia, Poetry Editor of The Abandoned Towers Magazine and the Sub Secretary General of Poetas Del Mundo. Details of his works can be found at www.sonnetmondal.com[/box] [box] What really happens when rains decide to visit a place like Jaipur where sand and heat dominate for much of the year? Sonnet Mondal, our Writer of the Month, brings on the spirit, mood and colours of rains in Jaipur through his poem.[/box]
The clouds seem to chide the sands of Jaipur
Which lay tranquil and calm, lump together
In fear of the roaring black sky.
The market shades act as umbrellas and
Small tea shops turn club houses with
Incessant fluttering sound of playing cards.
Pink houses forget their colour turning light,
Gulping the waters through their thirsty walls.
The footpath dealers drench till fever without a shirt
For their clothing cover their livelihood,
Protecting it from the sightless rain.
Fumes in chimneys seem to wrestle with
Their saved heat with the cold winds
And uncountable drops dripping from above.
The thought for shopkeepers are not to close
And drink contentment from the shower,
They do not ponder waiting for it to stop
But how to secure customers with free cups of tea.
Only ‘Ghagras’ spread as the plumes of peacocks
Circle around the spot, rotate with mad joy and
A group of children dance to their latest Bollywood songs.
Days ago when the sands flew with loos
And sang their hissing songs, the children
Sat without clothes looking at drying wells.
Now, the bizarre weather shares its land of time
With the rains; and the sands sit waiting for another
Dry time when rapacious desert storms
Would regain their lands in the circle of sharing periods.
We are just dolls of muscle, skin and bones
Dancing to the symphony played by the weather.
