Certain Monsoon Smell

Brown skinned men walk the street
Dark rain clouds adrift 
Deep in their travelling hair
I see a garden of pilgrim towns
Seen and Unseen. 
Lament must have been born 
Each time it promised to rain. 
As they travel this hymen of stillness 
Clung to them certain monsoon smell.

For My God

All my poetry is spent in you
Sometimes I have nothing more to offer 
Except a day's empty cup and my conditioned belief
You happen to me and then magic begins 
Of this remarkable journey 
From me to you and you to me.