On Debts Unpaid

First comes the calm, silence all around—
nary a soul in sight, nor a bird in flight.
'Tis the midst of August, rainy season now—
Ev'ry year this happens, we brace for the night.

Then arrives the torrent, the wind and the gale.
Nature's come for payment, tributes paid in flood.
All our half-built measures, how quickly do they fail!
Naught remains but rubble, lying in the mud.

At last the skies they open, sunlight from above.
It should be time t'rebuild, but debts remain unpaid.
The gold to mend is lost to those who take thereof,
The cycle starts anew, our fortunes stay unchanged.