The summers are back, the hotness is back,
by Sanjeev Kumar
Expect the wake of the atmosphere harsh,
To see the geography that abounds in nature,
But the heat makes up; here is no water, only hope,
That the rain would fall and make the earth alive,
There is rock, stones, and the roads that are dust-laden,
Those are alive for now, the travel through them winds,
Among the curvaceous mountains, yes!
So curved, that you almost lurch off into the dike,
Every now and then, rocky spaces, structures without,
Water; should the animals, the birds and the humans not,
Stop and drink if there were some, but the rocks are dry,
The sands are dry, the channels are dry, and the sky is dry.
Only thing that is wet is our own self, but even the sweat,
Threatens to go dry leaving the skin dry like the land,
That is parched with the heat that robbed the land of,
The last drop of water, one cannot stop or think,
For the feet are either in the sand or in the air,
To save the very last and precious drop of life,
Only if there were water amongst the lands, the rocks,
The land would not have been susceptible to carrions,
There would have been no silence in the mountains,
With the noise of the flow of the stream, that would,
Have turned the sterile ground breeding fertile, alas!
There is not even loneliness in the places dried, the people,
Their reddish morose faces peeking from the mud thatches;
Only if there were water, plenty of those and no sand, no dust,
But more water, spring, and pools among the mountains, the rocks,
And the sound of the rain-bearing clouds to make the nature happy.