Monsoon, with the Devil’s Face
When monsoon roars, it ain't for show, It's every wound the land won't outgrow. It carves the sky with iron breath, Not life, but trial, not peace — near death. They prayed for rain, a soft caress, But what arrived was wilderness. Not whispers now, but jagged cries, The devil wears the wet disguise. A sacred flame where silence burned, Now howls for all that's overturned. The land splits open, truths emerge, The river swells with ancient urge. You called it god — now see it glare, Its justice floods through poisoned air. A demon shaped from broken trust, Born of mud, and dreams turned dust. For concrete vows that cracked and lied, For every wetland colonized. For every tree you pulled in greed, The monsoon comes not just to feed. It drags the lies through choking clay, And drowns the debts you tried to pay. The soil, once soft, now spits in rage, A drowned revolt, a flooded stage. Its scream is not just water's cry — It’s memory that won’t comply. Its anc...