Summer tragedy

When June shrugs its shoulder
When monsoon anneals
On its moustache
When sun smiles in sarcasm
....The earth gets dry and rough
The horizon looks too blue
The trees cry and shed
We all wait for clouds
To drench the ground
No defeat, no victory
It's a process revolutionary.
Every summer joints
Hand with monsoon,
Sarcasm turns into boon.

Dr. Ashutosh