She’s born in the monsoon, it reigns over her, it colors her perception of the world.
It washes her over with hopes and dreams quite unlike most of her peers;
drenches her with the possibilities of who she can be.
It makes her passions thunder inside her, always reminding her to keep going and
never make the same mistake, like lightning that rarely ever hits the same spot twice.
It makes a water baby of her, and she’s completely at home, in the middle of a heavy downpour.
The smell, and dampness of wet mud after the first showers is where heaven is for her.
There’s a monsoon cloud inside of her, which ever so frequently bursts without provocation.
Her smile is the overcast sky, enigmatic and painfully shy.
Her gaze has the tenderness of newly formed dew drops,
Her words come out like the pitter-patter of raindrops.
She’s thunder gone wild, She’s gentle like rain,
She’s a monsoon child, With a smile she can’t contain.
