The warmth of summer in this town lingers
like the smell of damp places or dank houses
but I have grown to love this syndrome.
What do you do when you don't love
do you hate?
The smell of summer seasons beats the rain
which can appear any time. But the clouds disappear
with alacrity, and old wounds fester.

Nearby the mighty river bears fangs- sometimes
otherwise it can be as lukewarm as water, but it has
an ancient past, and when the monsoons strike terror
it plants a mysterious death wish.The people in the villages
know it, and the river island also feels its breath, cover for love.

The days of childhood are over, but this moment
reminiscences like these will talk. Will speak.

And I will weave once again dreams.