Bengal and the hills

The northern hills roar in thunder,
Flash fire on forest tops, burning
Bright: shielded in clouds darker than smoke;
Under cries of a dying earth, trees yell,
We? Reflect: a shadow of rhododendrons
Matting the floor with their lives,
None illuminate, silent hills echo girgles
Of springs, whispering to conspire,
As if to wait- a moment united and
The hills would burst, in flood: some
Estranged in sorrow, others blood. All
Because mischief was caused by
The monkey yelling at the nodding baboons.