Habits Poem by Nikhil Parekh

The crimson grey clouds have an obsessive habit to cry,
inundate barren regions of earth with surplus amount of fresh water.

the washerman has a stringent habit of washing blotted cloth,
scraping tonnes of dirt with adroit strokes of wooden batten.

the city traffic police have an impulsive habit of waving their sticks,
cant help but do so, even when in realms of deep sleep.

the soil has a bountiful habit of giving birth to blades of wild grass,
when fed with paltry amounts of achromatic water.

the sheep on mountains have a routine habit of walking in clusters,
weave their way through interspersed regions of the jungle leaning on one another.

the birds in the sky have extravagant habits of chirping incessantly,
convey the innermost of their feeling via this medium of coherent music.

the saline waters of sea are prone to habits of crashing against chains of rock,
falling with a loud thud on the shore when imparted turbulence by the moon.

the milkman has an infuriating habit of delivering milk in wee hours of the morning,
waking people up from domains of celestial sleep.

the dog has a noninvasive habit of barking vociferously at strangers,
wagging its tail when jubiliant, in criss-cross fashions dismantling the harmony of air.

the venomous snake has lethal habits of consuming baby milk,
injects its poison while relishing the same with slender tongue.

politicians worldwide have chivalrous habits of making promises,
fail to deliver the same when floating high in webs of corruption.

striped lizards have denfensive habits of squirting blood when attacked,
change their color with nonchalant ease to strangulate unsuspecting prey.

i had an unrelenting habit of running till i found paradise on earth,
bathe under the crystal springs of mesmerizing nature,
live in transcendental oblivion sheltered from pragmatic realities of life.