In the Hot Summer

The sun mounts high
It blazes down on the floors
The children scurry by
Everyone has to be indoors

All the plants are adust
Temperature rises by degrees
Mulch thobs by gust
Wind is sighing in the trees

The men carpet mats
Lying in shodow they doze
Pests are the buzzing gnats
They deprive them of repose

Buffaloes let out gasp
Sheep squabble over water
On brims birds clasp
And each other they slaughter

A hot wind inflicts harms
Dust is carried by whirlwinds
Boys rush into farms
Eat up melons and leave rinds

Water begins to boil
Every drop ends up in smoke
It is the sons of soil
Who burn in heat and go broke

This is no less drought
Months ahead is the rain
Yet Karanj stands out
Blossomed in thirsty terrene.

S. Bharat