The sun spits angry flares
when even stones turn to ashes
I stay inside and do not dare.

Mother earth soaks up every drop
dries up the river and tree's bark
will the next rain help growing crops

Of things I did not worry before
have evolved now, taken ugly shapes
and now I face problems turned sore

Its for water we run around these days
store for adversity, prepare for the worst
this summer will change us in so many ways.

this is not a death-wish
this is a resurrection.
on nights, you grow
weary of the sound of
your own breathing,
there is a fierce sun
burning inside you,
you must use it to grow,
not to scorch all you have.
you have tender hands,
why do you use them
to peel away your
conscious?
there is a thunder in
that insipid heart of yours,
go, forage it out.

Breaths drawn
against saline skin,
hands murmur apologies
as all absence is forgiven.
Seconds stretch without end
battle cries, faint now but rousing
disturb the whispered dusk.
A call to arms, precious in its cadence
sings of life to forgotten senses
and finally subdues the longing
felt only in dreams of home.

While down the narrow path
in the morning at the park,
I found a leaf enjoying sunbath
on the tree beside the bush.

The leaf looked so fresh
while enjoying the food from sun,
stood out in this wide green mesh
and directed some food towards me.

There was a rock with a humble greet
I stumbled on it, bruised my feet
I had ignored the cuckoo on that tree
it did give me a warning tweet.

In this play of green and yellow shower
life thrives in trees and birds.
I fathom all these, and here I hover
I learn music , for it aligns my chords.