Summer, the season of a blinding sun
Indoors and cool lemonades-
The half empty streets of Rajasthan
And the nocturnal desert serenades.
Summer, the season of warm whispers
Of a damp wetness all around
A room littered with glasses, jugs and sippers
A shrivelled face covered in a shroud.
Summer, the season of scorching mystery
A dried wrinkled face without a name
The martyred leaves of every tree
The tortured and torturer at their game.
