Fat,
heavy,
fast-moving
Droplets of rain
So determined
in their
forcefulness
I thought
it was a
monsoon downpour
as the rain
pelted
the sycamore.

But where
were the coconut trees?
And the wet saris
clinging
to the
running
female bodies
trying to grab
snatches
of shelter
under
corrugated overhangs?

Where
were the mud pools
with
children's feet
and
tiny fish?
And the
orange-coloured crabs
scuttling sideways
across the grass
In the rain.

And the sacrificial horse
that drank too much
last night,
What made it down
that very last pint?
When it knew
the serious
consequences
on the world
below
its entrails.


---Jib, not sure of the time or the place. Perhaps I wrote it at home in 2003. Or while sitting on the tube or maybe the words floated through my mind while walking down the street. Maybe I didnt' write a date and time because I didn't think much of the poem.