The trees softly move as the winds buffet against the wood,
The palms of my hand move as I shield my face from the glare of the sun.
The koels sing in rains anticipatory mood,
The beauty of the flowers rivalled by none.
The dust of the old months has gone by,
Leaving only a path of heat and haze in its wake.
The coastal city for relief does cry,
All that is done by me is to stay on the edge of the lake.
The tiredness is not unfounded,
The sweltering summer saps the soul.
All people can do as the heat rises is to be astounded.
The tropical warmth burns the feet through the sole.
The city’s restlessness seems to reach its peak.
The traffic slowly stops as tempers and temperatures both slowly come to a boil.
The people driving continue their jostling matches as the passengers recollect their long forgotten holiday on that one distant Lonavala peak,
Even the plants dry as they take the last drops of water from the soil.
The parched land aches for even a drop from the sky,
The dirt needs to be washed away.
Above, as the birds fly,
And night slowly rolls in front of day.
The darkness with only the pale glimmer of moonlight,
Brings large, dark clouds, long hoped for.
And before the sun’s bright,
Water from the heavens starts to pour.
First a drop, then two, and then a shower,
As the peacock spreads its plume.
And like the opening of the flower,
June again comes to bloom.
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