It can be dull and barren and serene,
But its rain, its roars are extreme.

Grim and isolated thunderclouds,
Disrupts my silence with whispers out loud.

The prickly heat on my skin prickles,
Then the storm of tears down my faces trickle.

I'm not a freak. Let me say that clearly.
You just see this side so rarely.

I know it won't be over anytime soon.
But I will get past this summertime monsoon.