Monsoon Season

Drained of color,
these rainy days.
I watch tiny flower petals,
beautiful in the summer past,
wash down, down the dark
underneath the muddy streets.

Alone in the hushed silence
of a crowded train,
sweat pours in the humid air,
yet there is no warmth here.

I arrive home,
where the wet seeps in
through the cracks on the concrete walls--

The roof leaks.
the drips, slow and steady,
they drop
one
by
one

Shocking cold--
I catch them
before anyone sees.

I bundle up, and hide beneath the sheets.
Until someone knocks on the door,
or opens a window,
I know,
the storm always stays away.