Fire To Ice (A Monsoon Guilt)

It is the hottest of days, muggy, unforgiving
Net curtains shimmy in the draught from a monsoon wind
Every window open, all as though haunted by ghosts
I stand on the balcony and watch the clouds rolling in
They will yield a years rain in mere days
I would stand and have them cleanse my soul
But I doubt even that much water would be enough
Sweat trickles off my face and sizzles on the red tiles below
My bare feet burn; it is no more than they deserve
The roiling mass of grey is still too far away
The ocean will not release its hold on them, not yet
I look down across the hillside and wonder
Has the heat affected all of us so
My hands shake on the iron rail, it rattles at my sin
And, before I can think of how I will tell her
How I will communicate my reasons, blame this infernal heat
I know she has entered the room
The sweat freezes along my spine, it chills my guilt
I hear her footsteps approach, slowly, calmly: she knows
My Indian Princess, the most beautiful creature I know
A fire spirit, skin like polished mahogany, lips of spice
I turn to her and wish I hadn’t
The dagger is raised, ready to strike
But it is her eyes, those perfect oval wells that hurt me most
Frozen over, an arctic glint, she is as ice
I have chilled the monsoon and it shall have its revenge

3 thoughts on “Fire To Ice (A Monsoon Guilt)

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