The call of the cuckoo,

The blossoming flowers,

The whispering wind,

Are the call of the hour.

The dry mosaic,

Waits all along,

For that tiny drop,

For that monsoon song.

Tip-Top Tip-Top,

The rain starts,

There is fragrance in the air,

There’s love in every heart.

The love birds sing,

Melodiously on the tree tops,

The horse walks gallantly,

The peacock with a hop.

Those tiny little drops,

Of dew on the grass,

Shine out of darkness,

Like twinkling stars.

The grass, the flowers,

The shining dew,

Add color to life,

Of varied hues.

Beneath the fresh wetness,

The dryness cripples,

The wet air charms,

To cause monsoon ripples.