I Smell Rain On The Wind

Whirls of dry dust 

Make the city air translucent,

Detached Bougainville flowers float

In a mad trance

Like white and pink confetti,

I smell rain on the wind.

Ill-latched windows

Bidding adieu to hinges,

Falling from high floors with loud tinkles;

I smell rain on the wind.

The pigeons hold tight

The rusty balcony rails

Cock-eyed and stock-still,

Underskirts and nighties

Billow on the clothesline

Struggling to be let free

Of the clutching clips;

I smell rain on the wind.

The children collect their colourful wares

And run in all directions

To the safety of their homes;

I smell rain on the wind.

But the man with the rake

Continues his sweeping of fallen leaves,

In the same rhythm,

Unfettered by the ravaging air.

The wind doesn’t like this indifference,

Rebukes him,

Leaves the high floors

And swoops down to undo his labour.

The man then stands, distraught,

Watching his collected pile of leaves

Turned and tossed, dispersed again,

Labour for another day.

Despair not! The wind is only

A forgotten friend seeking attention.

Rejoice! Don't you smell

The rain on the wind?

The sturdy trees standing tall

Sway and bow to

The tune of the wind

I smell rain on the wind.

Fearsome are the earth’s quakes

But pleasurable this tremulous air

Maybe, because,

I smell rain on the winds.