The persistence of myth

The stories of generations float through space, living on in the minds, hearts and discs of untold millions. If the world were devoid of the human race, its myths would live on still, lying dormant, until an intrepid adventurer stumbles on a memory bank - and the stories would burst forth like a raging flood, bringing the race to life once again.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Monsoon

From evening to morn it went on an on
the frogs their croaking and crickets their song
The monsoon had come, it was plain to see
A time for pakoras and hot cups of tea
It rained through the night and it rained through the day
The driving sheets made furrows in the clay
The people on the streets were drenched to the bone
The lucky ones, well, they curled up at home
There were stories of people getting washed away
The weathermen though did some fears allay
But all the children who bunked their school
Swore that there was nothing quite so cool
As a heavy, heavenly rainy day!

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