You were neither a destroyer nor a preserver like Shelley’s west wind. You were a native signal to harvest the taro and tapioca. You were a swing for the shore, and my soul too. You weren’t just a parching wind for me. My still leaves were energized by your verve. Moon shines. Henna plant blooms. Ghost of a love loiters in the old melody from a CD. If you blow now, a heaven will open as in the past. Climate has changed like generation. Vrishchika and the present are passive, poker-faced. Season of stirring wind is no more. An Ockhi of havoc howls instead. Vrishchika,- a month in Malayalam calendar, noted for continuous wind in some parts of Kerala Ochkhi – name of a cyclone First published in The Curlew (vol.11, issue IV), UK Reprinted in The Literary Hatchet (issue #23)