Some days, when you press your hands against your lips to keep quiet, a voice resonates in your conscience, urging you to speak through the meadows of conflicting winds in your mind-where only love and longing reside. A monsoon flower blooms and withers, telling its story to the cloud, who listens to her and prays for her in all his rain. And yet, the waxing and waning of the moon steal his voice away-the very voice that speaks to you when your hands are on your lips, forcing them into silence.
In reverence for the monsoon flower, the cloud says, "Let your silence speak for you, and let me write for you anyway."
This book is a collection of poetry born from nine fleeting yet eternal nights-woven in silence, carried by longing, and offered to a soul who listens beyond words.