An Indian Summer Of My Childhood

The sun would volley
Live coals on bodies
In threadbare clothes
The sun would blink
Through the meager waters
That’s left of a river
Sand dunes with scanty vegetation
Scattered all over
The small raft wouldn’t move
On thin layer of water

Where did the fish disappear?

Bedrooms shifted to isolated
Shades under trees
Leaves perspiring and choking
Under the smarting sun
The fires set ablaze to settle scores
Around the town increased
The mercury in the thermometer
Where’s water to put off the fires
On all the four sides of the town
With three intersecting canals
And the mighty Krishna
Coming to a halt?
We longingly would look
Towards the west
For the sun to set

When did the sun really ‘set? ’

The sun would always be
In the middles of the sky
Day in and day out
In the nights he would be
Substituted by hot gales
Which mom would counter
By placing raw onions on
Our skimpy beds and replenishing
Our thin tongues with water
Waking us up from the sun-laden sleep
Afternoons were time for fighting out
The live-coal sun with games under the
Scattered shades emitting the rawness of
Flower-laden mango trees
And biting into tender mangoes
For a moment the sun would take a retreat
Looking at the faces reflecting the sourness

Somehow the birds never really left
The nests they wove for the season to follow
They would wake us early in the morning
And in the mornings all we saw of them would be
By way of droppings on our heads
Sometimes they would swoop down
To take a sip from the flat earthen plates
Dad filled with water exclusively for them
They would even balance on the edge
Of a small vessel he would place
Filling it up with grains…

It was sapping heat
But never did it sap us
It was mercury at its high
But never disturbed us
We countered all
As if it’s just another
Season to live through
We would be habituated
To every facet by draping
Ourselves in damp clothing
And drawing long sips of water
From the fresh earthen pots
Sun is so much part of our day

Sun is our day!


by indira babbellapati

Comments (7)

Poetry is an expression of the soul! A spiritual keep on writing. This rating notion is B.S. in its finest hour.
You go girl its the least anyone could ask even just a comment is nice good or bad
Sandra, I gave you my small boost, with both hands under your acetabuli (that was nice) and agree with you that we ought to abolish rating altogether or put a name to the rating person each time. 15 extra points to Rich Hanson for those words of wisdom. H (someone chopped my Nightstalker rating too) .As I have said before, people with small or no appendages....
I rated you. You rate me :) I agree with you 100%. I would appreciate it a lot more if people rated my poems rather than just reading them. It would give me an idea as to where I’m headed and how well I’m developing my writing. For this poem, i gave you a 9. for simplicity and straightforwardness. sincerely, war
It looks like the J.S. virus has been attacking you too. Too bad. For the most part he does show evidence of taste. He picks on people that he's envious of. Ignore him. You have a good idea of how well you write, A word of praise from Herbert, Lenchen or any of the other talented writers on the site means a hellofa lot more than his spiteful judgements.
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