A Promise Written in Clouds by Mosfeka zannat

Next time,

I will die and be born again

in the heavy-coiled heat of Bhadrā’s month,

returning as a gentle rain

to wash over you.

You will write me into verses,

and in the book fair,

your poems will bloom into a book.

On the cover,

Dhruva Esh will draw my face—

the way only he can.

Rising singers will carry me in their voices,

turning my name into music.

You will wait for me,

worry if I will come,

count the days in silence.

In this life, I longed to be the sun—

I failed.

But in the next,

I will surely be rain,

and drench you,

until you belong to the storm.