She touches the ground gently.
She tries to pacify him;
Puffs of hot steam rise, as he vents all of his muffled anger.

My trees, oh! my poor trees...
They sway their branches, they shake their barks,
To snatch from the air each drop the clouds sprinkle,
And try to remind all their parts how it felt to be wet.

She now visits my shrivelled Crotons and irons them out.
Wait! My plants all seem to have gotten a bit taller!
Perhaps, the thrilled stems are instructing the roots to stand on tiptoes,
Lest this moment might pass partially relished.

She softly lands on the leaves,
She kisses them,
And lo! their souls shine again,
Gleaming gorgeous green,
Grinning, brimming with life.

Ah! Her Majesty has smudged my rangoli after dull months so many.
Oh what a pleasant sight!

And did you look at the stars that have studded my porch's floor?
She's plummeted and pushed down my stubborn Paarijaatas from the tree!

My flowers hug each precious drop that lands on 'em with their snow-white hands,
Ah, how hard they try to stuff them all into their orange tubes!

Oh, how much Ma'am have we longed to see Thee!
I better record with my words, the passion felt in this moment of glee,
Hoping this hymn melts the clouds,
And we never again get left gloomy.