The Monsoon Frog

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The Monsoon Frog

~~:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::~~

After the long and merciless summer,

when the fields lay thirsty

and the river dwindled into a narrow ribbon,

we waited for the monsoon

with the patience of farmers watching the horizon.

~~::::::~~

The sun ruled those days without mercy.

Our few shirts and trousers hung on a rope,

fluttering in the scorching wind.

By noon they were stiff and dry,

baked by the fire of summer.

~~::::::~~

The whole village knew our poverty.

Some saw our worn clothes,

yet few could see the hidden wounds-

the tears swallowed in silence,

the hunger burning in the belly,

the worries smouldering in the mind.

~~::::::~~

But childhood had its own wisdom.

We carried our sorrows lightly,

tucking them away among games and laughter.

~~::::::~~

Then one afternoon,

dark clouds gathered above the coconut groves,

and rain burst upon the earth.

The scent of wet soil rose from the ground-

an old song returning after years of silence.

~~::::::~~

I ran with my friends

toward the flooded pool by the riverbank.

The water, fresh from the hills,

embraced us with the tenderness of a mother

welcoming her child home.

~~::::::~~

We jumped and splashed,

our laughter rolling across the water,

echoing through the rainy evening.

Each dive washed away the dust of summer;

each ripple opened another page of childhood.

~~::::::~~

The swollen river seemed alive,

calling us by name.

We answered without hesitation,

young monsoon frogs celebrating

their season of freedom.

~~::::::~~

The rain drummed upon the palms overhead.

The muddy shore became our kingdom,

and the flooded pool our endless sea.

No clocks governed us,

no worries followed us there.

~~::::::~~

The river never asked how many clothes we owned.

The rain never measured our poverty.

The monsoon welcomed us all alike,

and for a few precious hours,

every sorrow drifted downstream.

~~::::::~~

We swam until dusk painted the sky,

until mothers called from distant homes,

their voices floating across the water.

Reluctantly we climbed ashore,

our clothes soaked,

our hearts overflowing.

~~::::::~~

Today, tiled bathrooms gleam,

and life rushes forward faster than the river ever did.

Yet whenever the first monsoon shower falls,

a hidden door opens within me.

~~::::::~~

I hear the voices of my friends again,

see the brown waters swirling beneath dark clouds,

feel the cool embrace of that flooded pool,

and breathe the fragrance of rain-soaked earth.

~~::::::~~

Those days remain untouched by time-

fireflies glowing in the lantern of memory,

the scent of wet soil pressed between the pages of life,

a forgotten melody carried by the monsoon wind.

~~::::::~~

Oh, flooded pool of my childhood,

beneath Kerala's rain-filled sky,

you were never merely water and shore.

~~::::::~~

You were the place where poverty lost its power,

where hidden tears dissolved in rain,

where hungry hearts discovered joy,

and where a band of young monsoon frogs

found a wealth greater than gold.

~~::::::~~

Though the years have flowed away

with the river's endless journey,

those monsoon evenings still live within me-

my childhood home beneath the rain.

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