The Rain in Delhi.

It’s raining in Delhi.
“It would be raining,” she sighs,
But she has to wait.
Runs to the shelter of The India Gate.
She checks her timepiece, her mother’s gift of gold.
Sixteen times in half-an-hour,
She awaits the man that buys her flowers.
Lukewarm bombs strafe the ground, arrow straight.
But she’s safe from the wetness, under The India Gate.
Should I stay? Is in her mind. He’s late, so late.
“I can't let him down,” she sighs.
“Men like him are hard to find.”
An easy decision, she decides to wait,
For her love to meet her, under The India Gate.
The Unknown Soldier’s flame wavers,
Never forgotten, hard won.
A beacon in the gloom, of the fast fading Sun.
In dying light and heavier rain,
Approaches the man, who can heal her pain.
They meet and greet, hearts one with fate.
Safe from the downpour, beneath The India Gate.