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No hint of a wind, in a blistering summer,
Burning like the fire of child-like curiosity
Is the season, the weather, in a salty town
Waiting for the rain, to endouse its flames.

One does love, the perks of summer
A season of doves, sunshine and happiness
Scooped up into, two balls of ice
And somehow in a way, summer's all nice.

Until the perspiration sets, fluids draining
Making us, desperately seeking
The comfort of the living room, back home,
Or a cooler wind in a random store.

But in this town, it's either Coconut Water
Or delicious Mangoes, people reach for
With parched throats and bodies, scavenging
For means of hydration, and a taste of heaven.

The rain does arrive, a one-night's guest
Leaves in the morning, on another quest.
The sun rises, and a few days later
The town's all set, to go into the toaster.

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A summer in India, confined to words,
Sounds like: scouring for mangoes
on a busy street,
or lying under,

the shade of a coconut tree.

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