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ISSN: 0974-892X

VOL. V
ISSUE II

July, 2011

 

 

Mirosh Thomas

Night Rain

The rain was a torrent,
Nature’s fury, aberrant.
I could hear each tile
Above me toll.

I peeped through the curtain
To watch nature threaten.
Above me a rickety roof
Saved me from something rough.

And on it rats were running.
And white ants were dining.
The Kerosene lamp flickered
In the room, and I cursed.

Outside in the bright light-
Of the lighting that lit
The track- I see a proletariat
Gopal, running as in a riot.

His umbrella is a banana leaf
And a bottle of toddy, his life.
On the half way his leaf is gone,
But he ran forward with his gin.