A herd of ponderous grey elephants arrives,
not there one moment,
and then the next, a swarm of skin
ushered onwards across the blue sky
like a blanket over Karachi
by the salty sea breeze.
The beasts do not stop here often,
for this hot and dusty land
offers them not
the watering hole they seek.
But it is September
and the moist wind gestures
the final flourish
of a conductor’s routine.
It waits with bated breath
for the earth to gather itself
and marvel at the magic
it was witness to.
Silence sits expectantly,
stale air between two hands
inclined to applause.
A leaf fidgets in the quiet
until rain and rocks reunite
like the palms of an audience breaking
into thunderous appreciation of
the music of the monsoon. 


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