The monsoon has taken over the wheel of time; dark heavy clouds threaten to pour out and pour down.
You likes storms,don't you Swami? So I've heard. You came down in a thunderstorm, embodying the hueth of those rain clouds. Ghanshyama. Meghavarna.
But is this storm not enough for you? Or is it me?
Then why do I hear a faint flute with each thunder? Ringing away in my soul like a chime. And then, you leave me stumbling on this grassy clearing.
How is it fair, that you steal my body and heart and then trouble me so? Hridayachora. Chittachora.
The rain is long gone, and the sky stands clear as an ancient pool.
(just a little something i once wrote during a thunderstorm where i almost felt like if i closed my eyes tightly and wished with my entire heart I’d have Krishna right next to me)
