Summer In The North

Poem By Sofiul Azam

Summer, that's a hard facer
in this tropical heartland's North
where the Padma's once-wild flow slugs -
a spineless python dragging its dull

burden into the Bay of Bengal,
where dust's long maddening wait
for a little moisture seldom ends
or withered trees' branching out

in green again hardly happens.
Anyway, look over there
a dry man in a dry month slouching
past North's thirsty pleading;

(in his heart, dormant geysers
awaiting their burst into the open)
but still his past peeps through
the skin of a hard-pressed

custodian of drought scenes,
once a connoisseur of Kalidasa's
fabulous The Cloud-Messenger, the hard-
cover with feelings of monsoon

not even lost in translation,
and of his artistry in Sanskrit
so steady in his Aryan elevation,
he is on the lookout again

for harbinger-clouds crowding
neat as his beloved's tuft of dark hair,
and for sprinkling summer rain-
drops like womanly cool caresses

on his sweating figure. Oh, it's
clouds that gather, and soon disperse,
leaving his hurting mouth sun-
dried for long odd weeks ahead.


from IN LOVE WITH A GORGON (2010)

Comments about Summer In The North

Nice description, albeit mostly parched and painful. I expecially like your description of the river.


Rating Card

4,9 out of 5
4 total ratings

Other poems of AZAM

The Defeat

for my father

The King saw his chiefs stand like the deaf
(brave sepoys stirred blood in their veins,

Disjecta Membra

for Geoffrey Hill

1.

The House Of Rumours

(for Monira Qais)

I had just slipped straight from my mother’s womb
into this house where rumours breed like spawn,

In Love With A Gorgon

At the time of the sun's spitting saffron out in the sky,
my life turned into a dazzling Gorgon and smiled.

The Gorgon with her snaky hair and tempting eyes

Somewhere Around Despair

for Sonja Broderick

'...the nameless pain from which one feels there can be no way out,
and one knows despair is absolute.'

St. George And The Dragon

1
Shadows fell on indispensable hopes and grace.
All of our inherited clemency cowered;
and the currency of hopes was almost over,