Memories of home
At the cry of cicadas
In this foreign land

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Haiku (19/8)

The monsoon blues
Etched in cicada rains, one night -
Others in eternal waiting.

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In the late nights,
The quiet lament sounds like cicadas.

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Cicadas

In darkness of sub soil, I slept,
Feeding for seventeen years,
Ready to fly above ground in billions,
Waited to mature all these years.
Seduce them with high pitch singing,
To mate with her all my life's longing,
Life of a month of singing and mating,
With orgasm fulfilled my life's longing.
A short life of mating , singing,
Celebrating our carnal desires,
Nothing more we desire.

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Cicadas sing

Waited for long under the soil,
Lived in darkness for two decades,
Roots fed him with its sap,
Things changed above the soil.

Life above with light and air,
Glamourous, lascivious as it is,
A life of few weeks for him,
Short but ecstatic for him.

To mate, long desires to fulfil,
Create progeny as nature desires ,
Cicadas sing in different tunes,
High pitch as that of Bands.

Once in seventeen years,
For a month or two, Universe hears the call,
A short life of weeks consummated,
The cycle goes on.

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am i overthinking or the night has gotten bigger..🌙

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