A dried up pond right in front of my home,
Otherwise half-filled with algal bloom on its top
And restless fishes creating ripples
As they swim between the confined sand walls.
All the trees in my vicinity
Have now withered,
Leaves fallen,
And not a single patch of greenery on sight.
My garden is now
A graveyard of Hibiscus, Jasmine and Mukkuthi.
There is no fluttering of butterflies or bees
All have left this scorching sun.
Dry wind from the Vembanad lake
Came to me like a stranger,
Pulling out sweat from my body
And leaving through the half-opened door abruptly.
“I have never experienced a summer like this”,
Complained my grandmother
Who has seen 1000 full moon nights,
Singing lullabies to her grandchildren
Comparing them with the brightness of the Sun
and the glossiness of the Moon.
Even panches of clouds are
Nowhere seen in the sky, but,
“All the water taken will
Return as rain,”
said my grandmother
Who has now folded today’s newspaper
And made a Vishari out of it.
The street was empty all day
But an announcement vehicle is passing now,
Cautioning us about an impending heatwave.
This announcement vehicle
Reminds me of the last monsoon,
When continuous rains submerged my entire village
And we swam above the very same road,
Holding all the little valuables we had
To the relief camp a few miles away.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at editor@madrascourier.com.
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